Petit Fours
by Cooking Spray
Summary: A collection of four TMM romances. The final is an angst ridden tale involving Quiche and Ichigo, and how they must brave after the destruction of Tokyo. AU.
1. Morsel 1: Candy Drop Love

Petit Fours

an anthology of four Tokyo Mew Mew short stories

**by Cooking Spray**

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**Disclaimer: Insert general disclaimer here. Or go read another Tokyo Mew Mew fan fiction's disclaimer.**

**Konnichiwa, minna-san! I haven't been around the fanfiction world lately. . . but after re-reading some of my Tokyo Mew Mew manga, I was inspired to write these stories. They're all one shots and are readable on their own, and will have some intriguing pairings. Also, some ado about the title. . . petit fours are French snack cakes, and since this anime is based around food, I thought it appropriate. Also, there are four stories, all petite, as satisfying as a bite-sized cake. Metaphors abound!**

**The first is a Pudding/Tart fic, set about six years after the completion of the series. It's very cute, and I hope you'll enjoy it!**

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**Morsel One:**

**Candy Drop Love**

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The glow of the spotlight was full in her face, illuminating her body entirely in its bask. The crowd's eyes were upon her, in a hush of anticipation. She gasped in a final breath, and slowly placed a toe onto the thin tightrope, muscles tensed. Then, with practiced ease, she enchanted the audience with her smile, and began her acrobatic routine. . .

But wait. The spotlight had grown brighter, too bright. . . it blurred and dissolved her fans, her arena. She squinted against the glare, and then. . .

The light was real. The amber eyes of Pudding Fong snapped wide open, vision recovering from slumber. When the world focused again, she saw Hanacha fooling with the mini-blinds, a stream of sunlight flowing through the room.

Pudding wasted no time getting on her feet and untangling herself from the sheets. "Hanacha!" she shrieked. "You ruined my dream! And it was a nice one about the trapeze, too. . ."

Her sister stuck out her tongue, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Mature onee-chan dreaming about the circus again? What high aspirations." Pudding growled, and Hanacha giggled as she dodged a pillow. "Otou-san told me to wake you up, it's nearly ten. You sleep in so much lately!"

Pudding was suddenly alert, choosing to ignore her sibling's last comment. "Otou-san's home?"

Hanacha nodded, trademark Fong golden curls bobbing as she did so. "He got in late last night, but you were too busy talking to your weirdo boyfriend to notice. What's his name again? Tar. . .something or other. . ."

Pudding's cheeks pinked. "He's _not _my boyfriend! Just a very good friend!" Hanacha stifled another giggle. "Now out of my room! OUT! I've got to get dressed!" Hanacha turned on her heel and began running downstairs in giggles. "Tart lover!" she taunted at the top of the

stairs, before swinging a leg over the banister and sliding down, expecting her older sister to pursue her.

Pudding gratefully shut and locked the door to her room, sighing in relief as she leaned against it. Much as she loved her extended family, they unfortunately all took after her own exuberant nature and could be incredibly frustrating. Just a little privacy once in a while was all she asked for! Hanacha had probably been listening to she and Tart's conversation on the downstairs phone again. . . which meant she'd try to follow her when she left to meet him. Pudding rubbed her temples. Better use the screen door in the back.

Trudging across the room, already annoyed, Pudding shirked her pajamas and began to rummage through her bureau, looking for clothes that would make her happy. She decided on a canary yellow tank top with ruffles and blue jean cutoffs, appropriate for the hot Japanese summer they were having. The choice also made her feel ready to do anything, which, if you were Pudding, was essential.

Fully attired, she approached the full length mirror, examining her appearance. She blew her bangs out of her eyes, staring back at her reflection. Her figure was thin but muscular, with long legs and, Pudding acknowledged regretfully, no chest. Outgrown were the quartet of braids from her younger years, although her hair remained as short as always. Pudding grinned at the mirror self, her happiness returning. Her father was finally home again, which meant she'd be able to get away from her usual babysitting duties. And such as it was, Tart was also in Tokyo.

Since Pudding's Mew Mew days, she and Tart had been arranging visits, and over time a deep friendship had blossomed. All that knew her, in spite of her intentions to keep their meetings secret, teased her about "her weirdo boyfriend", though she protested greatly. Sure, he. . . looked a little odd if you weren't used to it, could overreact and often spazzed out over the smallest of things. . . but he _was _an alien. Minor personality faults could be forgiven. Besides, he was her first real friend, and she trusted him a great deal. And over the summer holidays, he'd miraculously managed to get Pie and Quiche to agree on letting him stay on Earth. He'd called late the previous night, ecstatic, from his rental apartment. Today they had planned to spend the day helping him get moved in, which, with an assistant like Pudding, would take no time at all and leave the afternoon to spare.

The grin grew wider, and, once again running a brush through her hair to double-check, Pudding turned a graceful cartwheel and unlocked the door, ready to greet her incredibly noisy family for breakfast.

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"Pass the syrup!"

A chubby blonde-haired boy looked up guiltily from his mound of pancakes. "Um, I think I might have used the rest of it. . ."

"Otou-san, Chancha used all of the syrup!"

"There's so many pancakes left, what are we going to put on them? This is all your fault, Chancha!"

The elder Fong let out a sigh, but it was a happy one. He watched his children argue with a parental pride, then lifted himself from the floor. Without a word, he pulled from the refrigerator a bowlful of whipped cream and another of fresh sliced strawberries, as if he'd anticipated the dilemma. The five littlest siblings all squealed with delight and smothered their father with hugs and kisses, Chancha staying put in relief. Pudding surveyed the scene with fondness, devouring the last of her pancakes. It was then she decided to broach the subject.

"Otou-san?" she queried. Her father turned his attention to her, as did the curious eyes of her brothers and sisters draped affectionately around his arms, waist, and shoulders.

"Yes, my darling Pudding?"

"Anou. . . Could I be relieved of my babysitting duties today? You're home, and- I'm not trying to force work on you! It's just. . . they've been really well behaved, and they are old enough to at least look out for one another. You see, there's a friend of mine in town, and he wants me to help him unpack things. . ." Pudding's amber eyes were hopeful and pleading.

The older man grinned, eyes a sparkle. "Oh, that friend of yours. . . Tart, is that his name?"

Pudding nodded. "He lives with his older brothers. . . far away, but they've let him rent an apartment in Tokyo for the summer holidays."

"Ah, I see." He nodded sagely. "Well, you deserve a break, after all the work you've done while I'm away. And I can see this friend is very important to you. Go on, do as you like. With all of these extra hands," he gestured to his still-clinging children, "I think we can manage for the day."

"Thank you, otou-san! Thank you soooo much!" She leaped over to join the snuggling, for a moment forgetting her age. "I'll make up for everything!"

"No need," he managed in between chuckles. "Alright, alright, everyone off." Everyone contentedly returned to their places, if a little reluctantly.

"Looks like onee-chan has a date," Hanacha remarked to the great amusement of her identical twin, Heicha, giggling at the glare she received.

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The day was already sweltering as Pudding pushed her way through the crowd in the subway station, the midday sun showing no relent. She fanned herself with the slip of paper that she had written Tart's new address on, branching away from the pedestrian traffic to a lesser traveled sidewalk.

She scanned the paper. The location was a few blocks from where she was, it would be a pleasant walk. Breaking into a skip, she admired the scenery, despite the heat. Tokyo was such a clean city, a center of hustle, bustle, confusion and excitement. Pudding loved to call it home.

Having enjoyed the walk, shortly after Pudding was gazing up at the enormity of Tart's apartment, over one hundred stories up. She stood well in its shadow. It would feel odd to live in such a large place, so high up, and with so many other people. . . She walked into the main entrance on the first floor and headed for the elevator, punching in the number of Tart's floor. The doors closed, and as the small cart rose through the numerous floors, she breathed in deeply, excited. It had been almost half a year since she had seen him. . . would he look the same, act the same? In ways, Pudding yearned for his familiarity, something her eclectic lifestyle had not allowed for. . . no more thoughts, she concluded. She'd find the answers to all her questions soon enough.

The elevator doors opened, and Pudding nearly bounced out, consulting the paper again. "Room 204B. . . Room 204B. . ." She followed the snaking hallway, slightly dazed by the endless row of identical doors, set apart only by the gold-stenciled numbers painted on them. At last, with a cry of joy, she reached the appropriate residence. Hardly able to contain herself, she rapped on door, holding her breath.

A few seconds passed, and then the door creaked open, revealing an obviously older boy with ginger hair tied into a single high ponytail. He was quite apparently midget no longer, towering over even Pudding's 5"6 and 1/2. Ears shrunk for disguise, he was dressed in very human clothing, baggy cargo pants and a wife beater which exposed slender but well-muscled arms. Pudding squealed.

"TAR-TAR!" Before he could blink, Pudding had sprung forward and enfolded him in a bone-crushing embrace, wrapping her long legs around his torso. A stain of color appeared on his face at the proximity. "I missed you soooooo much! It's so boring here!"

"Are you ever going to stop calling me by that childish nickname?"

"Nope!" she chirped cheerily, causing Tart to sigh. "Why? It's cute!" She snuggled closer, causing the blush to intensify. Flustered, he shrugged her off of him, and she landed with a gymnast's grace back onto the floor (which was very far down, considering Tart's height), face instantly settling into a childish pout. He had been gone for six months, and she hadn't changed a bit.

"Aren't you a little old to still be hugging everyone you meet?" he complained, pointedly looking away from her, arms crossed. Pudding's pout vanished into a small smile. She knew his ways all too well. The remark, which probably would have been taken offensively by anyone else, was his way of letting her know he was happy to see her, although he'd never admit it or come out and say so. It was clear in his actions though. He embarrassed so easily!

She stuck out her tongue, then turned her attention to the apartment, feeling six years younger. "Uwaaa! You really _do _have a lot of stuff, na no da!" 1 As she'd gotten older, Pudding had long discarded her habit of adding 'na no da' to the end of every phrase, but in times like these, it sometimes slipped out again. The energetic blonde kneeled next to a box, popping it open. The contents made a sly grin slink onto her face. "Candy drops?"

Tart had crossed the room and plopped down onto the only piece of furniture in the cramped space 2, a futon. Trying to act gruff and indifferent, he made his voice sound bored. "Well, you've given more to me over the past few years than I can possibly eat in a lifetime. I had to do _something _with them."

"You could've just gotten rid of them, you know. Or. . . are you saying you _want _to keep them? Aw, I'm touched!" At once his face reddened, and she covered her mouth with her palm. She couldn't help herself, he was so easy to tease! Feeling a little bad, realizing she was probably devastating his most important asset as a male, pride, she threw one of the candy drops from the box at him. He caught it without looking, studying the sugary confection and raising an eyebrow at her.

"Here, eat one!" She grabbed a candy for herself and joined him on the futon, already pulling back the foil wrapper. "Oh, look, I got lemon!"

"Eat one?" He made it sound as if she had suggested he sacrifice himself to a pack of rabid dogs. "Do you have any idea how old these things are? Gross."

Pudding popped the round yellow ball in her mouth, looking at him indignantly. "Oh, fine, be that way, Mr. Dark-and-Brooding. But you don't know what you're missing out on." She made a giant smacking sound. "_Mmmm_, this is _so _good. Too bad Tart isn't eating one."

Tart sighed, exasperated, but couldn't resist a smirk. As exhausting as she could be, he couldn't ignore Pudding for long, whether or not she remedied that problem. Nor did he want to. "Fine, fine." He ripped the wrapping off the sweet and jammed it on his tongue. "Happy?"

Score! Pudding gave a crooked smile, waggling a finger at the undercover alien. Victory was sweet, literally. "See, I knew Tar-Tar couldn't resist sugar." He scowled at her, not willing to admit defeat. His silence told her all she needed to know.

"Look, are we going to unpack sometime within the next millennia? Or am I going to have to trip over boxes for the next three weeks?" He was trying to sound annoyed, but Pudding saw right through that.

"Hmmm. . . maybe. It would be kind of funny to see Tart the Faultless stumbling over things." The devious glitter in her eyes told him she was enjoying this.

He pretended to sulk. "You're so sadistic." She giggled and gave him a shove, springing up from the couch and striding towards a particularly imposing stack of boxes.

"Let's see, where to start. . ." With all of the energy she had, she ached to perform her routines, but the tight quarters prevented that. Finally deciding on a lumpy looking box at the top, she seized it and set it down on the ground, flopping down beside it and crossing her legs. "Come help!" she called exuberantly to Tart a few feet away, still brooding on the futon.

"I'm content where I am, thank you."

Pudding puffed out her cheeks. "I said I'd _help _you pack, not do all the work myself. Now get over here!"

Damn, why did she have to be so persuasive? Grudgingly, he sat up and walked over to his reason for the need of unpacking in the first place, plopping down. She ignored his glower, instead removing the duct tape on the box. She opened it and peered down to get a good look at whatever lurked inside. "Clothes," she announced, tossing the box at Tart suddenly and almost knocking him over in surprise. "Do you even have anywhere to put them?"

"No. What's the point?" he grumbled, sitting the box down on the futon temporarily. "I'm not even going to be here that long." He'd forgotten how go-getting Pudding could be when things needed to get done. It probably came from having to practically raise six little brothers and sisters.

Pudding preoccupied herself with plugging in the miniature refrigerator the apartment provided, blowing away dust. "You could've stayed over at my house, I told you that. We could've made space for a special guest like you. Plus, you would've had free meals whenever you wanted." Her tone was slightly maternal, hands on her hips.

Tart sighed again, shaking his head. "I don't want to be a burden to your family, you've got enough to deal with already. Besides, your father just got home, and it would feel. . . awkward. No offense, but I wouldn't have felt comfortable. You actually should be spending time with your vanishing old man today, but you _insisted _on coming over. See, we've come full circle. So stop harping on it, and let's just get these boxes unpacked. I don't even intend to stay here that often. The whole reason I'm here is to visit you, you know."

Pudding's shoulders had begun to sag, but that last comment perked her up. It was rare that Tart admitted things seriously, so he must've really meant it. She felt her cheeks grow slightly warm at this information. Though he'd basically left no room for further protest, Pudding thought there was something else that needed to be said. Oddly enough, though, she didn't know what it was. She looked up at the ginger-haired alien before her, whose questioning gaze was still upon her. He looked strange with the absence of his trademark alien ears. She looked at him, truly looked at him, without thinking of him as Tart or her childhood friend, and came upon the startling realization that he was beautiful. Suddenly, she felt nervous, shy, and was forced to look at the floor. What. . . was this queer feeling? It had rose up, at times, when she was around him, but never like this. . .

She had to say something. She didn't know what, but the words just seemed to blurt out of her, without her thinking about them. By this time, Tart's normally scowling and brooding "leave-me-alone" facade had dispersed completely as he noticed the change in his closest friend of six years. She seemed to be struggling with something. . . His face was both wondering and concerned, and the lack of angst in his expression caused a drastic change.

When Pudding finally spoke, her voice had an odd edge to it. "Tart. . . Do you remember the time when you and Pie-san captured me and imprisoned me in the basement of the Tokyo Dome?"

Tart winced. So this was what was on her mind. "Yes." His voice was tight.

Unexpectedly, she smiled, throwing Tart off guard once again. "You were trying to act tough and stern, but I kept frustrating you by not responding to your insults the way you wanted me to." She giggled a little in remembrance. "I thought the chimera animals were cute, and I tried to touch them. If you hadn't pushed me out of the way, I'd have been poisoned and died."

Tart was silent.

She went on, slightly wistful. "And then, I knew you couldn't be completely bad. So, I gave you a sugar drop, and said we were friends. But you got embarrassed and shouted something mean to make up for it, and then disappeared." She looked straight at him, smiling. "That was the beginning of our friendship."

Tart said nothing in reply, waiting to see where this was going. For some reason, his palms were growing sweaty.

Her tone grew soft, pained. "After that, there was the final battle in the sky. We'd been forced to fight you and Pie-san, and when victory came, you told me you'd never really hated me. . ." She broke off. "Then, after Ichigo onee-chan had found the Mew Aqua and we had made peace, we were playing on the branch of a tree. . .

Involuntarily, Tart began to blush.

"You had to go, and I was sad. You said it was good because you'd never have to see me again and there was nothing for you to do on a planet like Earth." Pudding laughed then. "You're always saying things like that. And that was when I offered you all my candy drops if only you'd come back. . ."

Tart was growing uncomfortable, face aflame. This part of the story hadn't been discussed since. . .

". . . and I kissed you and gave you one. I think I nearly gave you a heart attack. And then, you said, you might come back for some more candy drops. . ." She looked at him, expression strangely desperate. "Is that why you came back, for more candy drops?"

It was a while before Tart could speak. It made sense, though, he reflected. If only he had seen it coming. In all of their years of friendship, even after they'd trusted each other with anything, they'd never discussed their relationship. It had been something that was taken for granted. And now, they were both sixteen. . . He felt awful that Pudding would believe something he had said so long ago, probably without thinking. Did he really give such a bad impression? He had wondered over the years why she had kept insisting to see him. . . But he'd never once said a word, because he was grateful for the visits and the sunshine she brought into his dull life. Guilt instantly set in, along with a strong uprising of another emotion he couldn't place. He couldn't let her think that!

He couldn't bear to see her normally grinning and pleasant face so mournful a second longer. He had to say something, anything that would convince her. . . He dropped his voice, not really thinking about what he was talking about and just let the words come as they popped into his mind.

"No, I didn't just come back to Earth for a sugar drop." He paused a moment, considering. "How could you. . . think that after all the years we've spent getting to know each other? I came back to Earth because you are the most wonderful, beautiful, clever girl I have ever met. And," he added even more softly, "You are just about the only person who can make me smile." The compliment had been hard for him to say aloud, but it was true, nevertheless. Still, her words still stung him. . .

Pudding's eyes grew wide at the sincerity of his words. He thought she was. . . beautiful? Clever? She bit her lip, looking down and instantly feeling bad about what she had said. Much as he'd like to make you think otherwise, Tart was sensitive, and for him to even believe he had hurt her would start him beating up on himself. He would see it as his inability to keep anyone happy, and sink into depression, she knew, after having to reassure him so many times in similar situations. She was overcome with guilt, and at the same time, wonder at how such a simple afternoon of helping her best friend unpack had turned so serious. It was her fault, but. . . she'd felt compelled to say those things, make sure Tart really wanted to see her. It seemed they were both having doubts of a similar nature. And she knew better than to force her emotional distress on him, seeing his inability to deal with such intense situations. . . Why had things gone so wrong, so quickly? This must've been pent-up, between the both of them, through the years. . .

Feeling the tears begin to burn in her eyes, Pudding knew she couldn't just sit and let the misunderstanding between them widen. It was "don't ask, don't tell" no longer. Knowing that there was nothing she could say that would be the right thing, she did the only thing she knew how: She walked over to where Tart stood, back turned to her, and wrapped her arms around him into a very tight and serious embrace.

Tart jumped a little, startled. "Pudding, what? Why are you. . ."

"Shhh." She squeezed tighter, and eventually he relaxed, the two basking in the silence as well as the comfort of the physical togetherness. When she felt that the tension between them had dimmed, she began, knowing Tart would listen. Against her will, her cheeks burned.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad. . . I couldn't help myself. I guess I was being a little selfish. Childish too." Her eyes were getting wet, but she didn't pause to fight the tears or wipe them away. "I thought that when you said you wanted to stay here rather than at my house, that meant you didn't want to see me. I know that's not what you meant, I was just being stupid. And. . . if you stopped wanting to see me, that would be the most horrible thing ever. . ." The tears were coming full force now, and she buried her face further into his shirt. "You're the most important person to me. . . and that's all I meant. . . I'm sorry for crying like this. . .! I'm overreacting. . . I know how nervous that makes you. . ."

"You don't have to be." Tart's voice sounded choked, and he hugged her back, pulling her onto his chest. Pudding jumped a bit, not expecting the transition. What. . . was he trying to say? She was forgiven? She felt happy. . . but also disappointed. The cause of the latter she did not want to consider. But. . . this could be opportunity. . . _For what? _She questioned herself, heart beginning to palpitate more quickly. The more she tried to find the answers, the more she did not want to think about them, or what they could mean. However. . . at this moment, things just seemed so perfect. . .

And then, quite on impulse, she herself not sure of what she was doing (or not wanting to think about it, one of the two), she stood on tiptoe and placed her lips over Tart's own, thinking of everything and nothing at the same time.

Tart's reaction was instantaneous. His eyes snapped wide open, and a blush that rivaled all of his previous immediately sprung up. Panicking, his first instinct was to pull away, but as the moments passed on, he could feel Pudding trembling, and his eyes softened. Suddenly finding he didn't mind the feeling at all, he kissed back. They remained like that a time longer, until both pulled away, Tart's eyes meeting Pudding's with a mixture of wonder and contentment. There was another space of silence, both stealing glances at each other and then blushing, until finally Tart gathered his wits enough to speak.

"What. . . was that for?"

Pudding was still blushing up a storm, but she didn't seem to be nervous anymore. "I don't know," she answered truthfully. "It just felt like the right thing to do. . ."

Tart's facial hue deepened to a becoming tomato hue. "Do you know this means. . . "

"That now we're definitely not just best friends anymore?" Pudding supplied, a little shyly but still with her token pep. "Sure, I know."

"Pudding. . . I. . . you. . . we couldn't. . ." Tart was completely dazed, unsure of what he was saying anymore. A very big step in his life had just been climbed in a very short period of time, and he was suffering serious emotional overload.

The blonde acrobat giggled. "Why couldn't we?" Her voice sounded the tiniest bit playful. "We've gotten along fine all this time, haven't we? How is it any different?"

Tart couldn't be completely sure of anything he was thinking was making sense. But, Pudding didn't seem nervous. Actually, she seemed quite proud of herself for taking that extra step. And. . . he realized with sudden clarity, he loved her. He had for a long time, and Pudding had only just now made him come to terms with it. Face settling into a smile that made his blonde bundle of energy blink curiously, he reached out and pulled her against him, resting his chin on her head. He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he just had to be certain about this one last thing.

"Pudding Fong. . . do you love me?"

She turned her head up to gaze at him, at first not looking as if she had heard the question. Then, her mouth twisted into a grin. "Of course I do, silly! I don't kiss just anyone, no da." She squeezed him closer, and then added, "And you love me, right?"

He was about to answer when he got an evil idea, the perfect revenge for what she'd done to him earlier. "Hmm. . . maybe."

Pudding pulled back, looking hurt at first. Then she saw the wicked smile on Tart's face that he hadn't been able to resist. Her expression changed to annoyance then.

"Tart, you cruel, evil alien!" she shouted, glaring at him. "I'm being totally honest with you and you're trying to play games with me? Well, maybe I change my mind! I don't want to be in love with someone like Tart, he's a heartless, no-good, trickster-"

The heartless evil alien bent down and gave Pudding a slightly evil kiss.

Her eyes were still closed, insults forgotten as the lip-locking ended. "Mmmm. . . but he's a very good kisser. . ."

Before she could begin her ravings again, Tart bent down so that he was at Pudding's eye level. "As for your question. . . I don't kiss people I don't love."

And he meant it. He didn't.

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1. "Na no da" translates roughly to "Don't ya know?" or "Ya know?", and is something that, in the original Japanese versions of the Tokyo Mew Mew anime and manga, Pudding often adds to the end of her sentences. Sadly, this cute speech pattern was removed in Tokyopop's translations, maybe because they thought Western audiences wouldn't be able to relate. Still, I consider it an integral part of her character, and it would make sense that she would grow out of it as she got older.

2. Japanese apartments, due to overpopulation problems, generally only consist of one or two rooms, making them very small and cramped living spaces. In some cases, walls are retractable so you can convert rooms into whatever you need to use them for. They're ideal for high school students who move out of their houses to attend schools in different parts of the city (a common phenomenon which also teaches independence), or commuting business people. Or for a temporary residence for Tart who's come to Earth to see Pudding over the summer holidays.

I think that's enough notes for you all. . .

This is what I call a "squished story". This started out as a one shot, but the premise was just too much, resulting in having to squeeze in a love confession in too short a space. I think it would work better as a chaptered story, where I can have more room to let things evolve on their own without worrying about length. Xx;; Who knows, if enough people review, I might turn it into one!

Anyway, I really love this pairing! It's so adorable, and it's a nice excuse to be able to write some fluff (my stories are so angsty!). I think it may've gotten a little too long and mushy, but I'm proud of it. I hope everyone liked it! The next story will be a somewhat interesting choice for me, a Mint/Zakuro. TV announcer voice Stay tuned. . . XD


	2. Morsel 2: Only Bittersweet

Petit Fours

an anthology of four Tokyo Mew Mew short stories

**by Cooking Spray**

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**Disclaimer: Insert general disclaimer here. Or go read another Tokyo Mew Mew fan fiction's disclaimer.**

**Konnichiwa! Wow, I'm so grateful to everyone who reviewed! I didn't really expect this kind of response, but it was a nice surprise that I have so many new admirers! laughs In addition, most of you also remarked on the aspects you liked, which really helps me to establish a connection with my reviewers, I feel. Lurv to you all, minna! blows kisses Alas, I may have to disappoint those looking for another story in the same flavor as the first. . . This one is rather dark and deals with some heavy subject matter. Forgive me! I hope you'll enjoy it anyhow. . .**

**WARNING: This fan fiction contains shoujo-ai, or love between two girls, as well as slight sexual innuendo. If these concepts offends you, please do not proceed any further. You have been warned.**

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**Morsel Two:**

**Only Bittersweet**

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I want to kick until my muscles ache, scream until my throat is raw, thrash and pound until I collapse. I want to sink into myself, into the inky black dark of my soul and escape, curl up and become nothing. I want to go find them and say soft, sharp words, to wrench and tug their long hair from their heads and bite and claw their perfect skin. Revenge is a drug and I'm wasted, intoxicated.

But instead, all I can do is lean my head against the wall and feel the anger rise as the tears trickle down my cheeks, leaving glistening trails in their wake. I am pathetic, I am helpless. I bite my lip hard in disgust with myself and taste the bitter blood oozing from my own self-inflicted wound. A pain I control, no one else. I run my tongue over the perfect cut, not caring about my outward appearance, oddly comforted. Still, it will take much more to summon the strength to stand again.

I curl up, hugging my knees tightly to my chest, and rock. I am broken inside, the pieces stab into me with every movement. Words, shoves, and whispers follow me in droves, acidic. I walk with my head down to the ground, I haven't cut my bangs for months. Good, the less of the world I see, the better. I walk with my arms shoved into my sides, fists clenched. I feel nothing. I try to dissolve into the wind, become transparent and fade away, lose myself entirely.

Because of her.

Yes, the pronoun is feminine. Already you leer, your tongue becomes forked, you yearn to hate what you do not understand. But please, listen once to my story, I implore you. I am desperate. Maybe, just maybe, if you knew all of what happened, you might not treat me so. . .

Come, sit. Not even close if you don't want, I don't blame you. And listen, listen. . .

* * *

I sighed at the constant buzz that surrounded me, sipping deeply from my teacup but receiving little warmth from the beverage. Irritated, I listened for the hundredth time to Ichigo's overreacted screeching, followed by the unsurprising clatter of dishes as they met their doom on the hard floor below. Sure, they had become my friends, and I cared for them intensely, but today I had little tolerance for their exasperating antics. I straightened the apron of my ridiculously frilly maid costume and awaited with little eagerness what was certainly bound to happen any second. One, two, three. . .

"Mint-chan!" Ichigo shouted in her incredibly loud and annoying way, hands on her hips. "Why aren't you helping us? Lettuce-chan-"

"Broke a dish again, I'm always sitting here sipping tea and doing nothing to earn my paycheck, you demand that I help you and pull my weight around the cafe like everyone else does. Yes, yes, I know." I yawned, delicately placing a hand over my mouth, knowing the gesture would only further incense her but not really caring.

Her brow furrowed deeper yet in disapproval, and her voice carried a tone that was too leadership-ish and 'I Know Best' for me to bear listening to at the moment. "If you know, then why don't you do something about it? We need your help, you know today's the busiest-!"

My patience was wearing thin. "Sorry, but I just don't feel up to it today. I showed up at least, you should be grateful." I knew I was being rude, but I couldn't help myself. I just wanted to be alone today. . . I did feel the slightest bit guilty about being so "snobby" to my friends, however, so I mustered up a smile for them. "You know how I am sometimes and how moody I can be. It's one of those days, alright?"

Ichigo's gaze held me for a few moments more, as if looking to see if the missing part of the story would somehow appear on my forehead. Finally, she let it drop and gave a reluctant sigh. "Fine, but you're making up for it tomorrow!"

I waited until she had disappeared beyond the doorway to slump against the table, supporting my face in my hands. Why was I like this today? My sass and wit had gone, leaving me grumpy and brooding. And lately I had noticed, this only happened when _she _wasn't around. . . What was it with _she_? Why would _she _never leave my thoughts?

"Is it tea time already, Mint-san?"

I jumped as I felt a hand on my shoulder, brought sharply back to reality. Whirling around, I saw it was only Akasaka-san, and let my thumping heart relax a little. He smiled in his innocent and content way, something I've always thought awe-inspiring for a man who had seen so much turmoil in his life. What an optimist.

He walked over to the other side of the small table I occupied, pulling back a chair. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. Do you mind if I sit?"

I shook my head, and he took the invite and settled himself opposite of me, looking at me with concern. "Is something troubling you, Mint-san? Is there anything I could do to help?"

Something was troubling me, I realized. But I couldn't tell him that. Then again, if I told someone like Akasaka-san, he'd respect my confidentiality and might actually be able to give some advice. . . I stared down into my teacup, the liquid having grown cold during my musings. "Well, actually, I. . . I've been. . ."

His eyes softened a bit. "This is about Zakuro-san, isn't it?"

A flush spread unbidden across my face, shock written in my features. "Wha. . .What?" I blinked, disbelieving. Were my feelings really that transparent?

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Forgive me for giving you such a shock. But I couldn't help but notice the strange way you've been acting around her. Is this not what you were going to tell me?"

I was dumbstruck. Akasaka-san was too observant. . . But my embarrassment had faded. "Y-yes." I looked up at him, and I knew my eyes were filled with the desperation to know his opinion. The quintessential question was on the tip of my tongue. "Is it. . . wrong?" I almost whispered. "Is it wrong to be having these feelings?"

"It depends on how you think about it," the older man answered seriously. "But, if you want to know my opinion. . . love is love, no matter any of the classifications placed on the people who share it. Others may not be accepting, but the most important thing is to follow your heart." He smiled briefly, as if dismissing himself. "Disregard the cliche. But. . . how deep are your feelings for Zakuro-san? Are they enough to make a commitment against all the odds?"

My head was whirling. I'd never thought of my reaction to Zakuro in such a way before. . . the revelation frightened me, to say the least. However, I had to acknowledge that there was some truth in it. But why? How had she gone from my idol to something much more? I couldn't answer. It was too much. . .

Akasaka-san pushed back his chair, rising up and flashing me his trademark carefree smile as if the previous serious discussion had never taken place. "Think about it," he advised as he left, leaving me to stare after him long after he had disappeared from sight.

I couldn't stay, I felt suffocated. I needed time to digest the large amount of shocking information that had been presented to me. The others wouldn't like my early departure, but I would go insane if I stayed there a moment longer. Hopefully Akasaka-san would make an intervention on my part. Quickly shedding my maid uniform and putting on my normal clothes, I dashed out the door, not slowing my pace as I raced for home.

_Why did I have to be this way, onee-sama? Why do I have to be in love with. . . you?_

_

* * *

_

It made such perfect sense I was nauseated. There was nothing wrong with these feelings, and yet I didn't want to have them, to be. . . different. And yet, they were _there_, and I had to deal with them. As well, although I didn't want to permanently make a decision on my sexuality yet, it occurred to me that I _did _want Zakuro. But was it only her? If I had never met her, would I have eventually liked other girls? So many things needed to be considered, and yet in my state of denial, I could not consider or settle any of them.

I sat on my bed, enormous in every sense of the word, curled into a tight ball and engulfed by satiny throw pillows, sinking deep into my feather-down mattress. I had not moved for an hour. Whenever such an intense revelation as mine occurs in your life, you cannot help but stumble back, a bit confused and uncomprehending. But this was tearing me apart in a way I had never thought imaginable. I needed to find the solution, and I thought this with such determination that I rolled over and forced myself to think some more. More important than my happiness or the reactions I would get was that I needed to be sure of what I felt myself.

My thoughts shifted back to my school days. I had attended an all-girls private academy, but had that had anything to do with it? To my memory, I had never felt anything beyond friendship towards my peers. And it wasn't like I had spent my life in isolation from the opposite sex. Out of school and at sporting events my friends and I, as most young girls do, enjoyed flirting with and teasing the other boys. So why this, now? It was beyond all my reasoning, but it was there. . .

There are some things, I suppose, that happen in spite of the circumstances, that don't care about anything else. Against all better judgment, they transpire. . . It doesn't matter who, or what, or when, or where. They just _are_. You have to accept them. And that was what I would do, I decided. Though the chances were slim that Zakuro would ever feel the same way about me, I had to face this, one way or the other. And after whatever resulted. . . at least I couldn't call myself a coward. She had started out as my idol, everything I wanted to be, not unlike any other girl my age. . . and why this changed, I cannot describe, or even point out an exact date as to when it started. All I know is that it did, and now I had to deal with it.

_Tomorrow_, I told myself resolutely, pushing away the uncertainty and nervousness. _Tomorrow, I will get you alone, and I will tell you everything that I know I feel. . . and then, come what may._

_

* * *

_

"Onee-sama? Could you meet me in the back of the cafe, after work? There's something important I have to tell you."

It took all of my strength to say those words without stuttering, without blushing, with preciseness. I read her, waiting for an answer, holding my breath. She was drying a dish, seemingly unaware that I had spoken. But I knew she had heard me, and some part of her apparently sensed my urgency, the seriousness in my voice.

"I will be there." Her eyes never left the plate she was holding. She placed it on the stack and reaches for another. Lettuce glanced at us with curiosity from the sink, but returned to her dish-washing. I knew it was my time to leave.

"Thank you," I replied, and left the room as quickly as I could. Everything was set. She would know my true feelings today. . . Even though I had rehearsed many times, I was panicking about what to say. My heart thumped as the moment approached, and Ichigo scolded me for not working quickly enough, although I barely heard her. Every ticking and tocking from the clock seemed to reverberate throughout my very soul. . .

And then, suddenly, time had fast forwarded, and Ichigo and Pudding were hanging up their work clothes, while Shirogane and Akasaka-san were drawing curtains and clearing counters. I found myself in my school uniform again, face to face with Zakuro, who was looking at me expectantly.

I nodded, feeling my stomach flutter, and we both walked out the door and around to the well-concealed back of Cafe Mew Mew. Her eyes were still affixed to me, and then I was sure she knew what it is I wished to tell her. Under her penetrating gaze, in the heat of the situation, I had begun to blush, and to have stared into those wonderful eyes of hers would've only made me lose my nerve. And so, knowing I had to do this, knowing I would be even more miserable if it went unsaid, I started to voice my feelings.

"Onee-sama. . . onee-sama. . . I. . ." I clenched my teeth, frustrated with myself. I sounded like every other girl from every other cheap romance novel. The only problem was, Zakuro was not a handsome prince. She was a princess.

I stuttered some more, growing more infuriated with myself at every feeble utterance. Her eyes were cutting into me. At that moment, I realized there was no way I could put my emotions into words. Impulsively, in an act of desperation, I ran forward and seized her shoulders.

Standing on tiptoe, I captured her lips.

It is an odd thing, kissing another girl. Not that I've ever kissed a boy, but from the accounts of my friends, I could tell this was quite a different experience. Even though she did not return it, her lips were so soft and smooth, moistened with a sweet-tasting balm. . . My face was burning, there were tears in the corners of my eyes. I had exposed everything to her. I could tell she wanted to hate me. But, as I pulled away, there was almost somewhat of a struggle in her eyes, a confusion. . .

Minutes passed with our silence, save for my racing heart. I was barely thinking, anticipating the worst. And then, she regarded me a second time.

"This. . . this is what you wished to tell me earlier?"

I nodded, not knowing what else to say.

"I don't go for girls." My heart sank. I knew it would happen like this. . . "However, your bravery in confessing your feelings, even knowing they might not have been returned and that they were forbidden. . . that is admirable to me." Her expression was unreadable, but in a matter of seconds my heart had gone from being filled with despair to being filled with hope.

"You are sure of what you feel?"

Another nod, this one with somewhat of a relieved and teary smile.

"Then. . . meet me at Cafe Eclair tomorrow. We will see what to do about this." She turned away without another word. But I didn't care about the brusque parting. Inside, my woes about my feelings had been obliterated, replaced with an overflowing joy.

_Onee-sama and I are going on a. . . date. . ._

_

* * *

_

Waiting on the sidewalk the next morning, I felt nervous, as is customary before a rendezvous of any sort if you really like the person who is going to be sharing it with you. But I also felt slightly ridiculous. Looking down at my carefully chosen outfit, I contemplated its suitability for what must've been the millionth time that morning. I had finally chosen to wear a frilly, just above knee-length skirt, not too dressy and not too casual, with a white silk blouse. I had left my hair down and secured it with a ribbon-covered band, and completed the look with white leather slippers. It didn't look like I was trying too hard, did it? Sickened by my oh-so-typical behavior, I shut the door on my thoughts and stood patiently until I spotted Zakuro.

She appeared only a few minutes later, looking elegant as ever, in a burgundy business jacket of crushed velvet, khaki capris, and high-heeled suede boots. Suddenly, I was the one feeling underdressed. While her presence banished my worries, it strengthened my nervousness. The color pink was one I was beginning to both loathe and love, especially when it inhabited my cheeks.

She made eye contact, always one to be straightforward, and offered instead of a greeting: "I had to clear my schedule to do this." I assumed that this was a big sacrifice on her effort, and that she wished for my gratitude. I nodded humbly, seeing how I seemed to lose my voice around her, and she seemed to accept my offering, turning away and leading us both inside the doors to the cafe.

It was a trendy, Italian-themed place, with a mellow atmosphere. Conversations were conducted in hushed voices in the dim lighting. It gave me some comfort that Zakuro would give us some privacy to. . . work things out, however she meant to go about doing it. Once seated, a waitress immediately sauntered over, armed with only her memory by which to store our order. Evidently, you came here knowing what you wanted.

"One swisse mocha and a strawberry croissant," Zakuro stated without hesitation.

It was my turn. "Ah. . . a cappuccino and a cheese danish," I stumbled, hoping I didn't sound foolish.

The waitress nodded mutely and vanished, leaving the two of us alone. Luckily, though, this time there was no uncomfortable silence to fill. Her azure eyes regarded me with a sort of musing air, as if appraising me. Well, if she was looking for signs that I was attracted to her, they were all too obvious. After a time, she parted her lips to speak.

"So, tell me the reasons why you are in love with me."

I blinked dumbly, thrown by the inquiry. She wasn't going to make this easy. . . then again, I hadn't expected it to be so. It occurred to me then that I really didn't know why I was in love with her, just that I certainly was. But once I spoke, the answers came with shocking fluidity.

"You. . . make me feel older. You listen to me and respect my opinion, you don't treat me like a child. And you don't let anything bother you, at least outwardly. You have confidence. . . and you're so smart. Not many people realize it, but you can be sweet too!" My voice had risen a bit with my urgency to express my feelings, and Zakuro's eyebrows raised. I lowered my eyes and intoned more softly, "And. . . even though this is the least of things, and it's probably the only reason some people say they're in love with you. . . you're so beautiful, and elegant. In anything."

I couldn't believe that I had actually confessed all of that. . . I looked to Zakuro with a flicker of hope burning in my chest. To my surprise, there was the strange expression of struggle on her face again, and her eyes were in her lap, where her hands were folded. I waited, heart palpitating wildly again, and when her eyes met mine at last, they looked almost. . . sorrowful. I was shocked.

"No one has ever said that about me before," she confessed quietly. My eyes widened. "And. . . normally, I would turn you away. However, I can see that you honestly are in love with me." She said the words as if she were surprised to hear herself say them, as if testing them out. "If you are willing. . . we can try this." It seemed to take an effort to say it on her part, but the tiny wry smile she offered afterwards was more than compensation.

"I am!" I burst excitedly, rising from my side of the booth in my joy, eyes aglow and cheeks flushed. The tortured thoughts from two days ago were dispersed for good, and I reveled in how her smile grew ever so slightly, even though there was still uncertainty in her eyes. But I would fix that. Sitting down, I basked in my blooming ecstasy, unable to stop smiling. _I can't believe this is happening! _It may have been cliche, but I was too far gone to care.

The waitress returned, ignoring our change in mood politely if she even noticed it at all. Reciting our orders back to us, she lay the food and beverages on the polished cherry table before us, leaving again as quietly as she had come.

My food tasted ten times better than it ever had before, each bite a scrumptious piece of heaven. The cream cheese was rich and the pastry flaky and toasted to perfection, the icing slightly warm and deliciously sweet. Zakuro and I tasted a bit of each other's confections, her sudden warmth giving me more courage. I knew she didn't love me yet, but I would try my hardest to convince her.

Unfortunately, my rapture was clouding my perception.

Unbeknownst to Zakuro and I, a pair of viridian eyes had been studying us from across the room. Their owner, whom we would soon become acquainted with so well, was surveying us amusedly, a quirk to her lips. For a journalist who was struggling to pitch a front-page story, spotting Japan's top model on an apparent date with a young teenage girl seemed ideal bait to further her failing career. And, as it so happened, her assumptions were not far from hitting the nail on the head.

Obliviously sipping our coffee, the two of us continued on, unknowing of the rude awakening we would be faced with the next morning.

* * *

It began ordinarily enough. The morning air was cool and moist, and the clouds had a gray cast, most likely signaling rain for later that day. Still very much in an upbeat mood, I hummed a lilting melody as I swept the entrance to the cafe, not caring about the weather. It was not until Ichigo burst outside to join me with a worried expression did my outlook change.

"Mint-chan!" Burgundy locks swishing and ribbons trailing, she clattered out towards me, giving me the slightest twinge of annoyance at interrupting my bliss. But when I noticed her expression and the newspaper she had clutched in her hand, I discarded my broom and wiped my hands on my apron, leaning over her shoulder to see what had upset her so much.

"Mint-chan. . . this isn't true, is it?" Her expressive chocolate eyes begged for an answer. When my eyes found the front page, I gasped in shock. Emblazoned on the cover was an excellently (and stealthily) rendered photograph of myself holding out a delicate sliver of danish for Zakuro to sample, my eyes bright and cheeks rosy and she with an uncharacteristically warm smile. The headline read, "Notoriously Famous Fujiwara Zakuro Finds Love in Some Strange Places". I began to tremble. The article, written by a woman named Kawamoto Yukiko, went on to explain about Zakuro's reputation for staying single, contemplating that this was just to keep under wraps that she wasn't interested in men. . . I couldn't read further. She must've been at the cafe. . . why were we so careless not to notice? This wasn't how things were supposed to happen at all.

"Mint-chan. . . Mint-chan?" Ichigo asked worriedly. "What does this mean. . ." Her voice was soft and tentative, almost frightened.

Regaining my senses, I lowered my head. "What you and everyone in Tokyo thinks it does," I answered bitterly. I knew this would have had to happen sometime, but so soon. . .

Her eyes widened and she recoiled in surprise. "You mean. . ."

I needed to find Zakuro, to see what to do about this. . . My heart ached. "Excuse me."

I rushed back through the Cafe Mew Mew doors, hoping against hope that she'd come to work today. _Please don't give up on me. . . _

Ichigo stood and watched me retreat with a stricken expression painted on her face, just as the first raindrops began to fall.

* * *

I found her stacking trays in the kitchen, and if she had read the paper that morning, her expression concealed it. Timidly I approached her, alerting her of my presence with a light touch on the wrist. At once her attention was mine, breathtaking lupine orbs asking, "What?".

I swallowed. "Did. . . did you see it?" I didn't need to specify. She nodded, a slender hand stretching out to cusp my face in it. Our gazes were locked, and all of my strength rushed out of me.

"I would say this is your fault," she began, voice the barest of whispers. "But that would be unfair, because I chose to encourage you." I could do nothing but wait for the next sentence. She closed her eyes. "I do not know whether this will hurt or help my career, but I came into this with you knowing that, as did you. The question is. . . are you willing to love me even if we can never go out without later finding ourselves on the evening news, even knowing the animosity you'll have to face?"

Even if these things did bother me, I was too in love at this point to care. It didn't matter if the whole city hated me if I had Zakuro. Needing comfort, I rushed forward to wrap my arms around her middle, burying myself in her apron. I knew she would not turn me away.

"Nothing could ever stop me from loving you," I answered in a voice laden with passion, my hold around her tight.

She gave me another rare grin, respect in her eyes, and bent down over me, stroking my hair. And that small display of affection was enough to give me the endurance to transcend the hurricane that lie ahead.

* * *

The weeks that followed were the hardest of my life.

Stares cut like knives, venomous whispers followed my every footstep. I lived through those days in a torrent of tears, flowing in the privacy of the girls' room between classes. Everything that had made me myself had been shattered by one goddamn news reporter. My life was a nightmare that bled together, each day an continuing horror.

The only thing that made it bearable was Zakuro.

Several times I contemplated suicide, but the memory of her face always made me lower the knife. It was ridiculous that this was being so thrown out of proportion, but it was nevertheless. I had bludgeoned the reporter who had made my life into this living hell with so many curses in my mind, not that it did any good. My own family was shocked, angry, disappointed. But at least they weren't as bad as the rest. As long as no one made the connection and my sexual preferences didn't affect our income, they tolerated my being with Zakuro. I could tell that I'd let them down, but I couldn't explain my love to anyone. All I knew was that I wanted to spend and share everything with my beautiful lover, and that hardly anything could stop me from doing so.

As for the object of my affection. . . well, her career has suffered a few blows, as well. I could see the regret and bitterness in her eyes when a show was canceled or a designer sponsor decided to stop providing her with their fashions. I couldn't help but feel a little guilty, even though I knew it was just as much my fault as her own. And every time she saw me, she opened up to my adoration more. . . her first unprompted kisses gave me courage, as well as the lust that sometimes glittered in her eyes afterwards. . . She seemed confused by it, startled a bit. But she never stopped, and it empowered me to go just a little further, to make her realize. . .

This is the only light in these awful days. My lifeblood. . .

* * *

And there you have it. My own sad, twisted story. Do you hate me still? It wouldn't be anything I'm not accustomed to. The few sympathetic glances of other girls like myself in school never did anything for me either. They never tried to stand up for me, just watched me crumple day after day. . .

I hear the creak of door hinges, and I give a reflexive jolt. In my room it is so dark; my mood does not permit any light. But through the shadows I see the ethereal glow of her. . . Zakuro's. . . aquamarine eyes. They are full of sorrow; I know she has also felt the pain, but also of concern, and I love her for it. I sit up, relaxing under her presence, and watch as her perfect form emerges, standing in the doorway with uncertain hesitation.

"Mint." Her voice sounds ordinary, but I can detect the choked emotion beneath it. It still delights me when she calls me by my name.

I stand; my legs are trembling, my hair is in tangles, school uniform wrinkled and face tearstained. But I don't care. I rush to her and embrace her, engulf myself and hold her tight, escaping into the one person who can understand. I know that she's aware of how much I need her now, that she won't turn away. I clench the folds of her elegant modeling clothes and sob, and she strokes my back. No words are needed, we both understand this tough time we are enduring. We knew it would happen, we prepared ourselves, forgoing all for love, but it still hit us hard in spite of all.

I hug her protectively, like I never want to lose her, my warm tears ruining her silk blouse. But we are beyond worrying about appearance. "All I need is you. I don't care what they have to say. I love you and you're all I ever need." My voice is heavy, full of resolve I am not sure I can follow up.

She makes a small noise of comfort, moving her head closer to me so that her lips rest near my ear. I can feel her breath against my skin, and it gives my shivers. We cling to each other until my lamentation subsides. Zakuro, feeling a bit devious, presses her bosom briefly to my face as we part. I blush with a fervor, but do not dislike the sensation. She smiles at me, saying without words, '_It's okay.'_. And all of a sudden, it is. My despair, as it always does when I'm with her, has momentarily taken leave of me.

We migrate over to the colossal mound of cushion I call my bed, and I snuggle againt her hip adoringly. I'm rewarded by another small smile, one that I've noticed is becoming more frequent. But something in her eyes seems serious, and I am curious about it. As well, she seems nervous. . .

"Onee-sama, I love you," I reiterate, trying to reassure her. I sigh the words contentedly, curling closer.

Her face seems overcome then, the expression of confusion and wonder, struggle even, that I have come to know so well seeping back into it. I am immediately concerned. "Onee-sama, what's wrong?" A thought then enters my head, and I panic. What if she's come to break up with me? It seems impossible, after everything, but then why would she be reacting this way. . . _Please, no!_

The look vanishes again, another smile taking its place. Her unusual warmth confuses me. "Onee-sama. . ." I questioned, still worried. My hand reached up to touch her face, and I was prepared to kiss her as well. I hated to see her troubled.

Even more astoundingly, the smile grows in volume, and she turns toward me. "Mint. . . you know I love you, right?"

My eyes widen, and I withdraw my hand in shock. Her nervousness, that look. . . My elation pours over me. _She. . . she said it! _Knowing what an effort it must've taken, even these words are more than everything I have hoped for. I want to show her how much. . . how much this means to me. . .

Without warning, I close my lips over her own for a happy but serious kiss. Our tongues explore for a bit, and I situate myself on top of her, thighs closing around her middle. Breaking away, I see that same expression of lust in her eyes, if only for a moment.

"Of course I do," I say softly in reply to her question. "And. . . you know I love you too. . . right? That I really mean it when I say it?" I plead for assent.

She smiles back, kissing me again, and that is answer enough. Stars explode behind my eyes, and I feel powerless. I am completely hers. A courage awakens in me greater than ever before. With her love, and now, in this moment, everything seems possible. .

And when we pull away and look into each other's eyes, I can tell we won't be going anywhere soon.

* * *

I'm really, really sorry! I haven't updated in forever. . . And to boot, you deserve much better that what this turned out to be. My eternal apologies! Even so, I hope this was worth the long wait. . .

Hmm. . . I'm not really a fan of this particular coupling, but I have to admit there is a potential for it to work if you really want it to. My personal viewpoint on Mint's adoration for Zakuro in the series is much different, but I tend to write pieces based on concept. I'm sorry if this wasn't to your tastes. . . I promise, the next two stories are much more traditional. And better quality. This turned out to be darker than I had intended. . .

Anyway, the next story has a rather interesting premise, a bit of an AU, with hints of Kish/Ichigo. Please bear with me! This one will be ready much sooner, I promise. I'm almost done writing it as we speak. . .

Don't forget to leave a review!


	3. Morsel 3: Sugar Plum Dreams

**Petit Fours**

_an anthology of four Tokyo Mew Mew short stories_

**by Cooking Spray**

**

* * *

**

**Morsel Three:**

**Sugar Plum Dreams**

**

* * *

**

The material was a rich vermilion color, and quite of an expensive caliber as well. She'd decided to purchase it because the saleslady had remarked that it complemented her sage green hair. Holding the scissors in her hands, with what would soon become a beautiful dress in her lap, she hesitated. She'd always refrained from wearing red; it attracted too much attention. Shy as she was, being given excessive notice wasn't what she had in mind when adding to her wardrobe. And the particular pattern she intended to use was much more revealing than anything she had ever owned . . . again, a suggestion of the saleslady, who had insisted that the cut would emphasize her "full curves". Her cheeks tinted, and she almost lost her nerve and sat the scissors safely down again. But no, no . . . she had to do this. She had to learn to take risks sometime. She was going to make this dress, and she was going to look ravishing in it. _Attention is good! _her conscience protested. _You're beautiful, and it's time you realized it. Maybe this dress will help you and everyone to see that. _

As usual, her inner voice spoke the truth. Empowered, the young woman gripped the scissors more purposefully. She did want to look pretty. Especially if . . . he was going to be there . . .

She began to cut where the pattern she had pinned to the fabric indicated, pink stretched across her face. _You think about him too much . . . _

She hated to admit it, but it was perfectly honest. His perfectly mussed blonde hair, aquamarine eyes sharpened by sadness, spontaneous boyish grin . . . not to mention the easy, fluid way he moved, his careless grace and tanned skin, intelligence he could summon from seemingly nowhere . . .

She carelessly pricked herself with a pin, having let her mind wander yet again. The flush was beginning to become terminal. She sucked on her finger for a second to ease the pain, feeling guilty all the while. If she didn't start concentrating, the dress was never going to be completed on time. After all, there were only two days remaining until the ball . . .

Yes, the ball. In acknowledgement of the holiday season, she and her friends' former employers had decided to host a Sugar Plum Ball at Cafe Mew Mew. Lavish delicacies were promised to tempt them into attendance if they had any doubts, but as it turned out, this ploy was unnecessary. Also on the calligraphic invitation she had received was a reminder to come dressed for the occasion. When Keiichiro and Shirogane threw a party, no small detail went unnoticed. And this was the root of our heroine's late-night sewing frenzy.

On ordinary circumstances, she might've simply passed up the chance to attend at all, pleading some lame excuse about having nothing to wear. But this was a big deal, and she knew the others would never forgive her if she didn't show up. It would be the first time they had been together since high school, an event she was actually looking forward to. But what further persuaded the maiden to endure a night of sipping punch and watching men and women dressed to the nines do the tango in a skimpy evening gown had less to do with the reunion of her old chums and more to do with catching the eye of a certain fair-haired host . . .

She let her vice on the scissors slacken, her thoughts drifting not for the first time that night. She couldn't even explain how it happened, exactly, and knew only that it was something that had occurred gradually over time, and then hit her all at once when she least expected it. Somehow, quietly watching, she had developed a fondness, one that gave her endless torment once she realized its origin. She knew a girl like herself would be no match for the likes of someone so smooth and intelligent . . . her shyness would only cripple his free spirit. That, and many other, prettier girls admired him as well. Her predicament seemed hopeless.

Sighing resignedly, she glanced at the clock on the wall. Even now, 20 in an apartment of her very own, her decor reflected very little of her tastes. She'd tried to make the cramped space more lively, but after the furniture had been arranged there was neither room nor budget to add a personal touch. Thus, this clock was one of a rather run-of-the-mill variety, purchased for cheap. And if its readout, 1:08 a.m., hadn't depressed her already, the cheap pine paneling made her mood sink further still.

She _had _to get this dress finished! Ignoring her lingering thoughts on the previous subjects, she devoted her attention to finishing cutting around the pattern, using the possibility of catching a pair of blue eyes as her motivation to keep working. Blades clashed, needles threaded, tapes measured. Several times she modeled the dress for the mirror, clumsily grazing her skin with the fastening pins each time while looking for places where alterations were needed. Hems were brought up, material taken in, hands not stopping their feverish pace of work until the sun began to shine through her drably-draped window.

Having worked her fingers to the bone, the girl collapsed against the floor, dress crushed against her. A hollow tiredness consumed her, and both of her hands ached with a fierce passion. She held up the dress to examine her handiwork with eyes grainy from lack of sleep. All things considered, it wasn't a shabby job for someone as klutzy as herself. Satisfied, she stumbled into an upright position again, hanging the half-finished gown on a nearby nail that was protruding through the wall. Too fatigued to changed into proper clothes for sleeping, she all but fell into the bed, drawing the cheap cotton sheets around her gratefully. She'd make the final touches when she awoke again.

Ready for sleep to claim her with that resolution, she turned away from the invading sunlight and closed her eyes. And although it was not Christmas Eve, she did have dreams of sugar plums, or rather Sugar Plum Balls. Snow was falling, people were laughing, the smell of holiday confections heavy in the air . . .

And Midorikawa Lettuce danced with her handsome blonde-haired prince Shirogane in every one.

* * *

_Brrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiing! _

_Brrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiing!_

Blearily, Lettuce's eyes opened, still heavy with slumber. Squinting at the clock and then realizing that she had fallen asleep with her glasses on again, she read the time. According to the discount pine timepiece, it was 2:01 p.m. She should've been getting up anyhow. Still, what had aroused her?

_Brrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiing! _

Now the answer became clear. She groped for the phone, which was buried beneath the stack of books on her nightstand somewhere. A few seconds of upsetting various objects, one of which was a plastic (thankfully she couldn't afford glass, or otherwise she would've had a mess on her hands) cup of water, rewarded her. She pushed the 'Talk' button before the annoying device erupted into another_ 'Brrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiing!'_ and smashed it against her ear.

"Moshi moshi? (1) Midorikawa Lettuce speaking," she recited, puzzling at the caller.

"Lettuce-chan!" The bafflement ended immediately. That bubbly, cheerful soprano could only belong to one person.

"I . . . Ichigo-chan?" Ever cautious, she waited for confirmation.

"Of course, silly! I've missed you so much these past two years! You won't believe how much trouble I went through to get your number, that rotten Shirogane made me do all kinds of odd jobs around the cafe for it. And then, when I finally get it, he says, 'Now, don't bother her too much, or I'll have her change it.' " Her sulky tone indicated that she was still the same lovable catgirl. Only she could bridge two years of absence from each other's lives with instant conversation. "That jerk . . . I'm 20 years old and I find myself waiting tables again as if I were 12! Honestly . . ."

Unbidden, a hot flush crept into Lettuce's cheeks at the mention of Shirogane. He'd made Ichigo work for her phone number? _He . . . didn't want her to bother me? _Her heart thudded in her chest. She knew she was supposed to feel sympathy for Ichigo's enduring his teasing, but all she could concentrate on were those words. _'Now, don't bother her too much, or I'll have her change it.' _What was that supposed to mean? Was he showing concern? Knowing Shirogane, he was probably just joking with Ichigo and she was getting all worked up over nothing. Still . . .

"Are you there?" The voice on the other end of the line intruded on her musings. She'd been so caught up in them, she'd forgotten she was on the phone. Shame washed over her. This had been happening a lot lately . . .

"I'm sorry." Lettuce struggled to find another conversational point. Her mind definitely needed to be dragged away from the last one. "So . . . anou (2) . . . how are you doing?" _Oh, very creative. _

"Great!" she chirped, obviously eager to share details about her life. "Masaya and I are looking at houses. He proposed to me about two months ago." A girlish giggle escaped her.

"Congratulations," Lettuce said convincingly. She really was happy for the couple. Of course, anyone who had known them at all was aware it was only a matter of time. Theirs was a match predestined in the Heavens.

"I was going to break the news to everyone at the ball, but I was too impatient. By the way, you are going to the ball, aren't you?" Lettuce could hear the pleading her friend hadn't bothered to conceal in her tone.

"Mmm-hmm," she said softly. The mention of the ball brought all of the thoughts she was trying to avoid back with a vengeance. 

"Yatta! (3) I hope everyone will be able to make it. Have you bought your dress?"

"I'm almost finished sewing it. Actually, I stayed up all night putting it together because I waited until the last minute." Her voice was guilty at admitting her procrastination. She bet Ichigo and the others had their gowns selected weeks ago. It made her seem like she didn't even care. "I was going to finish it today."

"Ooo, you're sewing it yourself? Wow, I can't wait to see! What color is it? Does it have straps or not?"

"Red," she answered shyly. "And no, it doesn't."

"Wow, Lettuce-chan is getting daring," Ichigo said in a low, teasing voice. "Are you trying to impress someone in particular, hmm?"

Even with the knowledge Ichigo was just messing with her, the hated blush made its presence known again. She cursed herself from within. "N-no, no one, you know me," she stuttered, hoping she sounded like she was telling the truth.

"You know, you could get any guy you wanted if you tried. Just stop worrying and have fun! Men like women who assert themselves. And you're very pretty, too. Wish I had that figure!"

Enter the blush again, times two. "Oh, I'm not _that _pretty, Ichigo-chan. And I'm not looking for love or anything right now." _Lie! _her conscience screamed. She knew she'd have another guilt trip about this later. However, the body comment made her curious in spite of herself. Could other people really think of her as attractive? She'd always been humble about her figure and paid little attention to her looks. But the comment got her thinking. . .

"_Suuure_, you tell yourself that." The catgirl let out a laugh. "Anyway, I gotta go. I'm going to try and see if I can get a hold of everyone and talk to them before the ball, too. It's been nice talking!"

"To you, too. Bye!" Her voice was still soft.

"See ya at the ball!" The perky bride-to-be ended the surprise conversation with a click then, leaving Lettuce to hold the phone against her ear a few moments after, a bit shocked at the turn of events.

Realizing she couldn't stay in bed cradling the phone all day, Lettuce pushed herself out of the mound of covers. Her clothes were horribly wrinkled from having slept in them, and her hair was suffering from a severe case of bed head. Surveying her disastrous appearance, she could think of only one thing to cure it: a hot shower, on the double.

In full gear now, she crossed the short distance to the bathroom, passing the red dress on her way. She debated slipping into it again and judging if Ichigo's words were true, but the half dozen of pinpricks she'd received from previous fittings made her think better of it. Carrying only herself, she slipped into the small room that constituted as the site for all of her toiletries and began to draw the water, just to let it get warm. Stripping down, she caught a glimpse of herself in the small, dingy mirror provided above the sink. As inadequate as it was for studying your reflection, her curiosity won out, and she moved closer.

She cringed as she noticed her chest first thing. What to most girls would be a blessing was to Lettuce a curse. She had never been proud of her 38C breasts, always trying to flatten or make them less noticeable with every sports bra conceivable. She hated that they were so obvious. But, taking Ichigo's words into consideration . . . maybe they weren't so bad after all. At least she had cleavage to show off should she ever dare to wear something with a less conservative neckline.

Her hips came next. They were aligned with her shoulders, as was said to be ideal, and curved in proportion to the rest of her body. To her self-depreciating eyes, they looked fearfully large, but they harmonized well with her overall image. And her midsection was smooth and toned as well, resulting from years of swimming laps at the community pool. She'd never summoned the courage to actually try out for the school's team, but she'd have no doubt been a valuable asset. The residual finless porpoise genes in her blood had instilled in her a permanent love for the water. And it showed. Additionally, she'd always been slender, whether or not it was due to the fact she was a vegetarian and very health conscious. Altogether, she looked almost . . . _sexy_ . . .

Lettuce was surprised. All her life, she had heard her petite classmates complain about their "boyish figures", always wishing to improve their bodies by going under the knife. And, consequently, Lettuce had despaired about her shape and envied their compact forms. It just now occurred to her that _she_, hard as it was to swallow, was the ideal they lusted after. So her skin was a little pale. In the Victorian Era, that was the vogue. And maybe braids were out of fashion. She could get a hair stylist. With this revelation, suddenly the evening ahead looked a shade lighter . . .

Something wet lapped at her feet. Lettuce looked down, her eyes widening in horror. That bathtub! She had totally forgotten! Worse, the water was still a blistering temperature, scorching the soles of her feet.

"Oh no!" she wailed, too frantic to let her burning feet distract her. She made a dive for the faucet to extinguish the flow, but, in true klutz style, forgot how the current slippery texture of the floor might affect her ability to run. Instead of moving forward, her foot slipped in the growing puddle, and she moved backward. She thudded into the floor on her back, eyes swirling. "Itai . . ."

So maybe her perspective had changed, but she was still as ungraceful as ever.

* * *

Throwing the last soaking towel in the laundry bag, Lettuce leaned against the vanity and sighed. Not only was her hair still soaking wet from her ill-fated shower, but now all of the towels in the apartment had been expended in cleaning up the mess. She fretted about what the landlord would say of rotting baseboards, so she'd hurriedly tried to absorb all of the excess water. As a result, the shower was cold, there was a lump on her head, and all of her clothing stuck to her due to inefficient means to dry herself. Just when she had started to feel good about something in life, misfortune had reared its ugly head . . .

Well, there was no room for sitting around and despairing about it. With considerably lower spirits, the sage-haired maiden sat her bag of soggy laundry in the hallway outside of her apartment with a tag for the maid to pick up. It was always something . . .

She ran a hand through her stringy, damp locks, contemplating the next item of business. Her rumbling stomach answered for her. _Guess I'd better order some takeout before I starve myself to death. _She dialed the number of her favorite eatery, indulging and ordering six egg rolls, a cup of hot miso soup, and some sesame noodles, making it up to herself for skipping breakfast and lunch. Comforted by the fact that nourishment was on the way, she let her eyes drift to the dress again, deciding to get down to business.

She lifted it delicately from the makeshift hanger, running her fingers along the smooth fabric. Just looking at it made something inside her tremble with excitement and expectancy, because the dress had come to symbolize the ball and the infinite possibilities that awaited her there, as well as a confirmation of sorts of her newfound sexiness. She gingerly sat it down on her shamble of a bed, to return with her sewing box and the pattern for reference. Her haste to get the garment completed was now replaced with a cautious preciseness to make sure it was accurate in every detail. On the night of the ball, she wanted to look the best she ever had.

The food arrived, but she paused in her stitchery only long enough to mumble a thank you to the delivery boy and hand him the adequate amount of money. In between sewing zippers and waistlines she consumed her food, famished but riveted to her work. For once, all of the things she had left undone ceased to bother her, and her sole attention became the dress. It was a priority above all others. Maybe a foolish one fueled by childish daydreams, but she persevered anyhow, not even taking the time to reason with doubt. For once in her life, she was going to treat herself to luxury.

At last, when again the sun had long set, the dress was completed. Lettuce could hardly believe how wonderfully it had turned out, especially since it had been sewn by her own hand. It still seemed befitting of someone with much more confidence and assertion than herself, but it was so beautiful she couldn't resist not wearing it now. Not after she had put so much of herself into it, volunteered so many of her hours just to see its completion. Now came the final step . . .

The model actually trembled as her everyday clothes tumbled into a heap on the floor, half in anticipation and half in dread. Over her hips slid the dress, arms buoying it up onto her torso . . . She dared to look in the mirror. What she saw made her gasp.

The dress was completely sleeveless, situated just low enough on her chest to reveal a hint of cleavage. The waist was encompassed by a large ribbon, which blossomed elegantly into a bow in the back. Pluming subtly outward was the skirt, full and slightly bunched where it met the bodice. Not only was the gown breathtaking, but so was the person in it . . . With time to style her hair and beautify herself, she would look every inch the princess.

Heart soaring, she pirouetted before the mirror, already composing a shopping list in her mind.

* * *

Her breath was visible in small puffs in the chilly night air as she stepped out of the taxi. She paid and thanked the driver and shut the cab door, her chest constricting as her ride sped off and she marveled at the cafe, supreme as any castle. A slow trickle of guests were pouring into the establishment, all richly attired. Even though it was dark and still in the world outside, Cafe Mew Mew seemed to exude an internal glow, golden and inviting through the heart-shaped stained glass windows. She was nervous, but the light seemed to draw her, so she made her way through the entrance. It felt strange to be going through those doors in anything but her waitress garb, causing her to feel out of place and overdressed despite the finery of those around her.

The main hall and dining area of the cafe had been artfully converted into a dance floor, candles alight everywhere and garlands of pine needles and red ribbon weaving themselves in spirals on the columns, stretching up endlessly to the ceiling high above. Wreaths of holly, tinsel, paper snowflakes, beautiful glass-blown ornaments, and ribbon hung from every fixture possible, only overshadowed by an authentic ten-foot Christmas tree at the very center of the room. It dripped with the finest, most eye-pleasing decor, alight in golden splendor and already gathering well-wrapped presents at its base. And everywhere the air was perfumed with spice and freshly baked cookies, tarts, pies . . . even an orchestra sounded in the corner, instruments glowing. Keiichiro and Shirogane had really outdone themselves.

The atmosphere reminded her of the ritzy party she and her companions of the Mew Mew days had attended, the one on the cruise liner. They had all been required to dress formally then, too, although Lettuce's dress then compared to the one she was wearing now seemed much too frivolous. It was also on the night of that party when she first developed feelings for Shirogane . . . he had given her a drink earlier that day to help her seasickness, seeming so genuine and caring. And later, when she had thanked him, he told her it was just fruit juice, and that she could do anything she wanted if she believed in herself. She wondered if she still thought those words to be true. Lately, her confidence had been so poor . . . she was in love with someone she had barely seen for two years, short on money, and lonely with all of her friends out of contact. Perhaps tonight, surrounded by the gaiety of others and the Christmas spirit, she could make up for it . . .

Noticing that the other guests were placing their gifts under the tree, Lettuce hurried to do likewise. Yesterday she had been out all day shopping, trying to find thoughtful somethings for everyone. As a result, she was now broke, but she still hoped to see her friends' faces light up when they unwrapped what she had chosen. That would make the amount of money she spent worthwhile. She bent over and deposited the parcels atop the growing pile, her wavy sage locks falling into her face at the motion. She had removed her braids for this occasion, and the result greatly flattered her. A hint of make-up furthered her comeliness, as well as a few articles of jewelry. It was silly, but she felt over-emphasized, bedecked in such finery. She knew it was only because she wasn't used to wearing attention-grabbing clothing or displaying her body, and, ever since her self-assessment in the bathroom mirror, she'd felt more bold about showing off her figure. This dress affirmed this new line of thought well.

Standing back up, she was met with a suit-clad maitre'd, his demeanor as polite and congenial as anyone's in his position should be. Lettuce blinked, slightly confused as to why he was beside her, apparently waiting for something.

"Your shawl, mad'am," he prompted, extending a gloved palm.

"Oh, yes, of course," she replied, flustered, as she clumsily shrugged it off of her shoulders and handed it over. She still wasn't used to the formalities at events like these . . .

"Thank you." He bowed and walked away, going to put away the garment. As Lettuce watched his black tux-fitted form recede into the crowd, she began to search the premises for a familiar face. As it turned out, she didn't have to look very far.

"LETTUCE-CHAN!" The clacking of heels heralded the arrival of a familiar burgundy-haired ex-heroine, and Lettuce turned at the calling of her name to witness Ichigo barreling across the dance floor with Aoyama in tow, the rest of the gang not far behind.

"Sugoiiiiiiiii! (4) Lettuce-chan, you look so beautiful! Is that the dress you made yourself? Oh, I wish I had the time to do things like that! And hey, where are your glasses? You didn't forget them, did you?" While her old companion continued to gush and stalk around her, examining every stitch, Lettuce could only blink in bewilderment.

"Anou . . . thank you . . . And no, I'm wearing contacts . . ."

Aoyama laughed nervously. "Excuse Ichigo's behavior . . . she's quite excited to see everyone tonight."

"_And _she's been milling around the punch bowl . . ." The devious speaker was Mint, who was watching Ichigo's scatterbrained actions with a satisfied amusement.

"Heey, I heard that, Mint-chan! I am perfectly cohervent, thank you very much!" Ichigo scowled.

"I believe the word you're looking for is "coherent", not "cohervent"," Aoyama whispered.

"Oh, well that just proves it!" Mint crossed her arms triumphantly, enjoying the frustrated red hue her comment caused Ichigo's face to turn.

"You know what I meant!" She latched onto Aoyama's arm for security, the childish glower remaining.

"Hey, you two, stop fighting! You're ignoring Lettuce onee-chan!" A surprisingly tall and slender figure stepped forward, her golden tresses swept up into a knot of ringlets. Lettuce looked twice. Could that be Pudding? If so, she'd really grown up . . .

The crooked grin that followed confirmed everything. "It's so nice to see you! Would you like any refreshments? The plum tarts are really tasty . . ."

"You only like them because they remind you of me," whispered a tall male in the energetic blonde's ear, inspiring an impressive blush. She smacked him half-heartedly. For the second time, Lettuce did a double take. That was . . . Tart? Wow, he had certainly changed from the cute-little-boy image she had of him . . . His ears were gone, too, probably hidden with some sort of glamour to avoid attention. And it seemed he and Pudding had a relationship . . . it was kind of cute, actually. She found herself smiling. It felt like old times . . .

The only one who hadn't spoken was Zakuro, but Lettuce couldn't say she was surprised. To be silent was her way. She had noticed that Mint was standing rather close to her, though, and that their hands were interlocked. The model didn't seem to mind any of this. Could they have gotten together as well? If so, that made her the only single one of the bunch . . . A familiar sadness began to creep over her, but she willed it away. She _was _going to have fun tonight. All of her friends that she hadn't seen in so long were here together with her again, and there was good food and music and merriment . . . She wouldn't let depression overcome her. Just this once, she wanted to enjoy herself . . .

"I'm going to the lavatory, does anyone want to follow me?" The voice was Ichigo's. Of course, everyone agreed, leaving their partners to stand around and wait for their return.

"Alright! We'll come back looking prettier!" Ichigo winked and blew Aoyama a kiss, and the group flounced off in a storm of finery, skirts swishing. Lettuce followed, her spirits lifting now that everyone was reunited. Maybe while studying their reflections they could do some catching up . . .

* * *

"Pudding-chan, I really think you should wear the plain lip gloss."

"Uwaaa, but what if he tries to kiss me? His lips will get all sticky!"

"It's better than them being dry! Here, use mine. It tastes like strawberries."

The beautification festivities had begun, and all Lettuce could do was sit back and watch as Mint and Ichigo attempted to plaster poor Pudding with every known cosmetic available. Since she was still in high school, the two had apparently assumed a sisterly attitude over her, finally making the titles she gave them fit. They had all sneaked into the upstairs lavatory, since Ichigo knew a secret entrance and wanted to go somewhere less crowded. From that point, the main objective had seemed to be giving Pudding a makeover. She had agreed only because they said it would make Tart pay more attention to her, but now it looked as if she was having second thoughts.

"This stuff is making me sneeze! Are you sure it's as sexy as you say?"

"Of course it is; you just don't know your perfumes. It'll make Tart want to ravish you in a second."

"Ravish me? But we're at a ball!" Pudding's embarrassed protest was lost as Ichigo began smothering her lips with gloss.

"Oh, there are plenty of unoccupied supply closets around here. You'll find one."

"That's not very romantic!"

"Of course Mint would know all about this. Now I finally know where you were all those times you were supposed to help me close the cafe . . ."

Mint's face burned crimson. "What are you insinuating!"

"Oh, you _know _what I'm insinuating."

"You're a fine one to talk, Miss "I Got to Second Base With Aoyama in the Back of a Taxi"!"

Now it was Ichigo's turn to blush. "At least we don't make out in coffee shops!"

"That was only once!"

Pudding sweatdropped, a little shocked at how dirty the conversation had turned. They were shameless in their insults! "Can we please get back to my make-up now . . .?"

And so continued their banter, poor Lettuce just soaking up every shocking detail from her place on the loveseat. Things were the same as ever between those two, it seemed. So much for bonding . . .

* * *

Things were going well.

Or so was the observance of a certain lanky figure slumped against the wall, his critical cerulean eyes examining every aspect of the ball. The guests seemed happy, judging by their smiles (or maybe that was the punch talking for them). The music was well-played and lively by one of the city's finest orchestras, and of course Keiichiro had outdone himself with all of the refreshments. Everything was running smoothly. And yet, he still couldn't shake that hollow feeling, a restless discontent . . .

Shirogane swirled his glass of punch in his fingers, the bitter tingle of the alcohol it had been spiked with still on his tongue. It was inevitable at these kinds of parties; there was always that rogue bottle of wine that seemed to make its way into the punch. Being drunk didn't seem appealing to him on this particular night, however. With all of the furtive glances that had been thrown at him by various ladies all night that he'd pretended to be unaware of, he wouldn't trust a mind addled with booze to refuse all of them. There was nothing that could soil a memory better than waking up in a closet half-undressed next to strange woman with a hangover.

A glimpse of red and pink caught Shirogane's attention, and he diverted his eyes to find Ichigo and Aoyama in a place of semi-seclusion behind a pillar. It was obvious that _someone_ had consumed one too many a glass of punch, as her tipsy-ness was given away instantly by the constant blush that resided over nose (and her actions almost as prominently). Amused, he watched as she giggled and stumbled into her fiance, trying to engage him in a snog. Aoyama, obviously being the more clear-minded of the two, was trying to push her away, probably aware of her intoxication. But she was being incredibly persuasive, and after a while he gave up trying to refuse her. A smirk planted itself on the blonde's lips. He was only human, after all . . . He just hoped the couple didn't do anything they'd regret later.

Turning back to the bigger picture, he thought of how the scene he had just witnessed might have bothered him oh-so many years ago. When he'd been nothing more than a hot-headed, ambition driven youth . . . His jealousy over Aoyama almost induced a chuckle now. Now, eight years later, her could reflect that his supposed love for Ichigo was less romantic and more childish misinterpretation. Undeniably, she'd been attractive, but most of that attraction had to do with her being his first successful "experiment". Being young, he knew he had a desire to protect her, but he couldn't discover why. His fifteen-year-old mind chalked it up to love, when really, that wasn't the answer. Even now, he still felt like a guardian to her, but it didn't have anything to do with romance. Ichigo was a strong person who'd been a great Mew Mew, and this was the reason for his attachment. Artists get sentimental about their first paintings; scientists get sentimental about their first creations. And she was more than what he had made her because of it. It had taken a while to deduce this, but once he had, he'd felt better. Now, he could support Ichigo's love fully, and just be happy for her.

A slower tune was beginning now, and couples were making their way towards the dance floor. Shirogane spotted Pudding and Tart amongst the throng, being surprisingly serious and still. Zakuro and Mint were more intimately entwined, swaying gently and every once in a while giving each other soft kisses, not caring who saw. The only person absent from the scene, besides the two lovebirds who'd retreated upstairs, seemed to be . . .

There she stood, a solitary figure in the back of the room, concealed pain glittering in her eyes as she watched all of her friends out on the dance floor. Shirogane raised his eyebrows in surprise at how pretty she looked, unused to the bright shade and showy cut of her dress. He was reminded of a night many years in the past . . . and now, it seemed her confidence could use some boosting and reassurance again. Before he knew completely what he was doing, he straightened himself and began walking towards her, his curiosity at her sudden beautiful transformation and sympathy moving his feet along.

* * *

Lettuce was beginning to doubt the functionality of her new contacts as she saw him approaching. She was also worrying about the hospital bill she would receive for her cardiovascular problems, as her heart was beating so quickly it couldn't be healthy. And then, he spoke to her, and she made a mental note to have her ears tested, because surely she was hearing things . . .

"Lettuce . . .?" Shirogane blinked, the hand he had extended wavering slightly. "You would like to dance, wouldn't you?"

This was a hallucination, definitely . . . it was too good to be true. But if it was indeed her dream, what harm would there be in playing along? "Oh . . . y-yes." She took his hand slowly, the contact bringing even more warmth to her cheeks. It was a good thing she had decided not to wear blush . . .

As they neared the middle of the slowly-moving couples, Shirogane began to become confused about how embarrassed and nervous Lettuce was acting towards him. Was it he expressly him she was behaving this way to, or was she just shy to be dancing with someone at all? By nature, he knew Lettuce was very meek and mild-mannered, so it made sense for her to have such a flustered reaction . . . However, he'd never seen her in this state. Was she attracted to him? Recounting, there were several instances that supported this suspicion . . . And surprisingly, he felt attracted to her now, startled by this new beauty. Tonight, he saw her no longer as an employee or one of his Mew Mews, but as the woman she had become. And as it turned out, she was an exceptionally fine one, whether she saw it or not.

Lettuce was trying to calm her nerves. Her fondest wish had somehow came true . . . or rather, now had a high potential to. But it didn't make sense . . . It seemed surreal, having the object her affection so close to her after not seeing him in two years. Instead of savoring the moment as she should have been, she was once again worrying; worrying that she was jumping to conclusions. A dance was just a dance. She must've looked lonely, so he'd felt pity on her. That was it. There was a logical explanation for everything.

Shirogane saw the sadness seep back into her again. This also confused him . . . what was on her mind? Perplexed, he asked that very question. "Is something troubling you?"

His voice startled her for a moment, but she recovered. Could she answer this honestly? Her urgency to have things explained won out in the end. "Why . . . why did you ask me?"

"Is it so wrong to ask a pretty girl for a dance?" Apparently, she seemed disconcerted that anyone would find her appealing. There had to be a reason for it . . . A stain of color did blossom in her cheeks at the compliment, though.

She shook her head, appearing to dismiss herself. "No . . . n-nevermind." No matter, she had captured his concern and interest. Even though she unwound a bit after the exchange and relaxed in his arms, he was far from letting her go for the night. If nothing else, he would at least get to know her a little better, and maybe do something about that poor self-esteem.

The last notes ebbed and faded, and Shirogane gently released the hold he had on Lettuce. She thanked him for the dance in a somewhat regretful tone, and was about to turn away when he caught her wrist. If it was possible, her expression was more incredulous than it had been all night.

"Wait, stay. You don't have anyone to meet, do you?"

The sage-haired maiden's gaze moved to Pudding, Mint, and Zakuro, all still in slow dance formation and looking as if they weren't going anywhere soon. "N-no, but . . ." She let the sentence trail, at a loss. _How is this happening? _

He grinned, entertained by her disbelief. It was comical that someone that looked as she did was so shocked to have a man pay her attention. "Relax, I'm just going to get you a drink. What would you like?"

Lettuce truly thought she might faint then. _He's being so gentlemanly to me . . . _She managed to answer the question, however. "Anou . . . ginger ale, please."

"Now, don't run away while I go and get it for you." He winked and then vanished into the crowd, leaving Lettuce to combat the killer butterflies in her stomach alone.

* * *

When Shirogane arrived at the concession tables, he was annoyed to find many of the dishes ravaged and unreplenished. Nothing remained of the previously towering mound of baklava except crumbs and smears of syrup, and, he noted with a grimace, the deep crystal bowls that had once held drinks had been ladled dry. This reflected badly on the cafe's hospitality, and he wanted to know who was responsible. Additionally, the blunder was keeping a lady waiting . . .

Shirogane pulled aside a passing maitre'd, and the handsomely dressed man turned around dutifully, used to serving. "Yes, Shirogane-sama?5"

"Why haven't the refreshments been refilled? This insults the cafe _and _the hosts of the party." He gestured to the empty tables. He wasn't trying to be a tyrannous monarch, but nothing got the job done like a good subliminal threat. Fear kept feet moving.

"Akasaka-sama is a bit backed up on orders at the moment, but I shall see to it that things begin to move more quickly. Is that all, Shirogane-sama?" The man was so well- conditioned that he retained his stoic demeanor throughout the exchange. Shirogane was impressed. He'd have to remember this one and keep him around for hire.

"Yes. Oh, and he need not hurry if he's doing the best he can. I just suspected negligence."

The maitre'd nodded in affirmation and was gone, heading toward the corridor that lead to the kitchens.

Shirogane sighed, running a hand through his naturally mussed hair. He'd promised Lettuce a drink, and he didn't want to come back empty-handed, seeing what little faith she had in anything. He was a man who stuck by his words.

And that left only one other option . . . the wine cellar.

* * *

When Lettuce saw Shirogane coming back empty-handed, her heart sank, already assuming he'd changed his mind. But before she let despair totally consume her, she decided to wait and see if there was an explanation. This was a night of surprises, after all.

"They're all out of refreshments, so I couldn't get your ginger ale."

Lettuce breathed an internal sigh of relief. There was hope yet for her dream . . . "Eh, that's okay. It's not your fault."

But Shirogane wasn't done yet. "So, to make up to you, I'd like to ask you to join me for a glass of wine instead." He studied her, patiently waiting for her to make a decision and trying to gauge a reaction.

Just when she was learning to deal with the current situation, life threw yet another curveball at her. A glass of wine? She'd never drank alcohol before, and was frankly a little hesitant to, knowing all the accidents associated with it. But the way he said it made it sound so romantic . . . And besides, hadn't she resolved to try new things? Finally, she met his eyes again. "Anou, sure."

Shirogane was grateful that she was starting to show some trust in him, and, with a grin that was as much of a reward to Lettuce as the wine would be, took her hand and led her away from the hustle and bustle. "I have a wine cellar downstairs for special occasions like these. Or for hard days at work." He winked.

Lettuce was unable to appreciate the humor because she was too busy willing the blaze in her cheeks to be extinguished. He thought sharing a drink with her was a special occasion? Oh, this was really too much . . .

She really was cute when she was embarrassed. He'd have to stop being so charming, because it might begin to take a toll on the poor girl's health. The chaste attitude she had towards love gave her a sort of virginal allure, but Shirogane was even more interested in what was going on inside that pretty head of hers. There was a wonderful person in there just waiting to be discovered, he was sure. With a little effort, maybe he could coax her out . . .

The corridor they now occupied was very dark, well away from the epicenter of excitement. Shirogane produced an intricate set of keys from his pocket and inserted one into the lock of a humble door that would've easily been overlooked by anyone else. It clicked, and he turned the knob. The door opened with an ominous creak, giving the impression that they were about to descend into a place of great importance.

As was his duty, Shirogane took the first step down, once again offering Lettuce his hand. "Come on down, but watch your footing. It's kind of hard to see down here."

Slowly, he guided her down the staircase, and some seconds later both pairs of feet landed safely on level ground. Lettuce's surprisingly polite and gentle escort flipped a switch, illuminating the cellar subtly with the light of a single bare bulb that hung overhead. She was now able to see that the room was really rather small, and that there was no proper floor; instead the earth had been tightly packed to serve as one. That accounted for the metallic, musty odor she had noticed in the air. Wooden racks supporting bottle after bottle of wine encompassed most of the walking space, with a path just narrow enough for one person to navigate between each. There was a year scrawled in a messy script beneath each bottle in the tradition of dedicated wine connoisseurs everywhere. It felt very . . . private, secluded. Her heart accelerated.

As he watched her take in her surroundings, he felt slightly ashamed of their lackluster . "Excuse the lack of decor; my sense of taste seemed to fizzle out by the time I got down to this room." Actually, he'd left it that way on purpose. Being surrounded by frivolous pink hearts and flowers twenty-four seven got old quickly.

"Eh, I don't mind. My apartment's kind of the same way." Lettuce was surprised to hear her own voice. Had she actually managed to say a decent sentence to him without prompting? Her voice hadn't even wavered . . . She guessed it was because of how friendly Shirogane was being to her.

Ah, progress! It'd worked; she was beginning to feel comfortable enough to carry on conversation. He was surprised at how pleased this made him. Closing the short gap between he and the nearest wine rack, he regarded her again.

"So, what would you like? There's a little bit of everything down here. Just name it."

Lettuce blinked, not expecting the inquiry. "I've never really had any wine before . . ."

Shirogane wasn't at all surprised; in fact, he'd almost anticipated her response. There was a draft perfect for the occasion that had been in his mind ever since he'd thought to bring Lettuce here. "I see. I guess I'll do the choosing, then. Any preferences?"

"Something sweet, I guess, if it's not too much trouble . . ." She shivered, the temperature finally catching up with her. The cellar was quite a ways below the ground, and Lettuce was wearing a sleeveless dress.

This didn't escape Shirogane. "Here, take my jacket." He shrugged the garment off and handed it to her.

Lettuce hesitated. "But won't you be . . .?"

"Cold? No, I'm a man. I can take it." He grinned boyishly, and Lettuce had no choice but to accept. As she delicately drew it around her, she noticed the warmth that lingered from his body and, on cue, began to blush with a fury. Maybe she didn't need the jacket after all . . .

Satisfied, the shameless blonde turned back to the shelves. "You can sit there until I return." He gestured to a bland-looking table, smiled again to give her something to remember him by (as if she'd ever forget), and was gone.

Obediently, Lettuce pulled out the chair and sat, burrowing herself further into the coat for warmth. She still couldn't believe all that had transpired so far . . . Much as she didn't want this to end, some pessimistic part of her mind kept telling her it would. But for once, she shut it out. She really wanted it to be true . . . A sigh puffed out of her in a cloud of breath, visible in the cold air of the cellar. _Don't give up! Just stop worrying for one moment and be yourself. If he's spent this much time with you, he must at least care a little! _

Just as Lettuce was building her confidence, Shirogane returned, a bottle of wine and two stem-necked glasses in hand. "Miss me?"

She really hoped that was a rhetorical question.

Shirogane found her embarrassment to be adorable. Humoring her by not asking for an answer, he sat the glasses on the table and uncorked the wine bottle. "It's plum wine; year, 1996. Very sweet and of very high quality, as you specified."

"1996? Shouldn't it be expired by now?" Lettuce watched with building curiosity as Shirogane filled both glasses with an effortless precision. It smelled strongly of alcohol, but she could also detect an underlying sweeter scent. Bubbles rose to the top of the deep purple liquid, intensifying her thirst.

Shirogane laughed at her comment while filling his own glass. "No, wine is one thing that gets finer with age. Too bad it can't be that way for the rest of us." He corked the wine bottle again and sat down opposite of his entrancing guest, watching her peer with interest at the wine in her glass, tilting it this way and that. He fought off another chuckle.

"Now, for the toast. You can't drink wine without one."

Lettuce's attention snapped back to him. "A toast to what?"

Another grin. "A toast to your very first drink, of course." He raised his glass, and she hesitantly followed the example.

"I dedicate this wine to Miss Midorikawa Lettuce, and may it be as sweet on her tongue as the dress she's wearing." Her face instantly bloomed into a red that matched her attire. Shirogane took a moment to appreciate the cuteness of this expression.

"And now, we clink glasses . . ." A _tink _sounded as glass met glass. " . . . and drink!"

Shirogane tilted his head back and took an elegant sip from his glass, and Lettuce, sensing he was waiting for her mimic him, took a cautious sip herself. The wine tingled slightly on in her mouth, but was accompanied by a surprisingly rich and fruity flavor. It was almost like sophisticated punch. And, true to Shirogane's word, it didn't taste a bit expired.

"You like?"

She nodded, managing a small smile as well. "Yes, it's very lovely."

"Much better than ginger ale, I assume."

And, before she realized it, she laughed. It happened so naturally that she wasn't conscious of the sound until it escaped her lips.

It was a musical sound, and Shirogane smiled warmly. There _was_ a person underneath that self-depreciative and shy barrier she hid behind. "You should do that more often."

Lettuce blinked in surprise mid-sip. "What do you mean?"

"Laugh. You should laugh more often."

She rested the glass back on the table. The dim lighting flattered her lithe figure, catching each strand of her free, curly hair and making it glow. In its bask, her features were more pronounced; her lips exuded a sensuous glow. Lettuce was, of course, unaware of this, but it did not escape her companion's eye. "Why . . .?"

There were only two directions in which this conversation could go, and Shirogane was going to risk it and take the second of the two. He reached a hand across the table and brushed it across Lettuce's cheek, fingering a lock of her exotic hair. "Because it makes you look beautiful."

Lettuce froze, eyes widening in shock. _Is this really happening . . .? _Her breaths were shallow, heart racing. _If so, I don't want it to end now, or ever . . . _

He continued, sure she would not refuse him. "Do you know how kissing was started, my dear Lettuce?"

She shook her head, paralyzed by his touch and the intimate direction of his words.

He laughed softly, moving his fingers so that they cusped her chin to caress her cheek. "It was quite on accident, actually. It started in Rome, when a couple was at the altar and about to be wed. The husband put his lips over his wife's to see if the wine that she had been drinking earlier was good. Isn't it funny that something so simple like that has endured all this time?"

The ability to respond was lost. Blood roared in her ears as she stared with a fearful, nervous expectancy into Shirogane's captivating cerulean pools.

"Isn't it funny that the tradition has survived now, even?" His voice was a whisper as leaned closer and kept the century old ritual alive, closing his lips over her own. Her eyelashes fluttered, mind filled with the sensation of the moment. Surprising to her own self was the way that she gave in and let him guide her, instead of freaking out completely. _This is too good to be a dream . . . _

Shirogane pulled away softly, breathless. Lettuce, too, took a moment to regain lost air, hardly believing what had just happened. As they both recovered, she searched his face, a million questions swirling in her head. "Why . . . me?" she managed after a time, voice just quiet enough to be perceptible. "Why not some other girl? Why . . .?"

She straightened, but out of haste her elbow knocked into her wineglass, upsetting its balance. It crashed against the table and shattered, wine spreading across the table surface. Lettuce raised a tight fist to her mouth, heart sinking. As usual, she'd ruined the moment. A string of apologies were on their way out of her mouth, as well as a few tears, when Shirogane tilted her head to face him.

"Because of little things like that. That . . . is why you're here." Absolutely taken by surprise at his answer, the lamentation ceased before it started. Shirogane stood and walked over to Lettuce's side of the table, enfolding her into his embrace. She was too dazed to make any reasonable protest, and settled into his hold without struggle. They remained like that for good number of minutes, Shirogane smoothing her hair and massaging her back and shoulders until she stopped shaking. When Lettuce was certain she could support herself again, he let go, looking down on her with a fond smile. "Okay?"

She stared at him for a few seconds, some doubt still lingering. But after a while, she couldn't help but give in to _that _face. "Okay." She gave a smile of her own in return, choosing to accept his words without argument. Sometimes miracles could happen, couldn't they?

"Good. How about another glass of wine, then? I don't think your old one is fit to drink out of any longer." It was a way of saying she was forgiven.

"But won't we miss the gift exchange?" Her voice was soft with lingering guilt.

"You don't really mind, do you?" Their faces were so close that their lips were almost touching. Even though she'd spent all day yesterday selecting presents for everyone, she knew they'd understand. She still didn't properly understand what had happened, but she wanted to stay and find out, however long it took.

"No, not really."

"Good answer."

As he brought her in for a second kiss, Lettuce gave up trying to be logical and let her emotions take control. Maybe there was no sense to make of love. Maybe it just . . . happened, and you took it for what it was, no questions asked. After all, this was definitely a gift better than any she'd hope to receive under the cafe tree.

For Midorikawa Lettuce, Christmas came early.

* * *

1. "Moshi moshi" is a Japanese greeting used specifically for telephone conversations.

2. "Anou" is the Japanese equivalent to "um" or "er".

3. "Yatta!" is a Japanese exclamation equivalent to "Yay!".

4. "Sugoi!", another Japanese utterance of excitement. Translates roughly to "Amazing!" or "Sweet!" and is generally used to express excitement or awe.

5. The maitre'd uses the honorific "-sama", meaning "honored", to address Shirogane because he is the head of the cafe. Technically, he is their boss, and the must treat him with respect.

So there you have it . . . extra long because it's so late! It's hard to imagine Shirogane being so gentlemanly, eh? But really, it's in his character. If you'll notice, it's only Ichigo he treats rudely or antagonizes, for obvious reasons. While he's not got the most pleasant disposition, he generally has a weakness for a lady in distress. Interestingly enough, you see this most prominently demonstrated with Lettuce in the manga, during that oft-quoted cruise ship party scene.

I feel this is a little rushed, but I'm working under a tight schedule (it's Christmas Eve, yikes!). In order to preserve the theme, I'm posting it before it'll be depressing (who wants to read a Christmas story after Christmas?). It could probably use some more tweaking, but at least it'll be on time. The two feet of snow outside of my window was an excellent muse!

So, to all of my readers, have a very merry Christmas! And keep hoping you'll find your own man (or woman, you never know!) to share a cup o' bubbly with . . .

Love,

Cooking Spray


	4. Morsel 4: Apocalypse

Petit Fours

an anthology of four Tokyo Mew Mew short stories

by Cooking Spray

* * *

Disclaimer: Insert general disclaimer here. Or go read another Tokyo Mew Mew fan fiction's disclaimer.

Well, here we are, just past the one-year anniversary of this anthology and just now is it in completion. Sorry, kept getting distracted by shiny things! Anyhow, I hope this was well worth the wait. It was originally intended to be a chapter story, but I didn't feel up to the task, so it ended up here. I think it works best in vignette format, anyhow.

This is a slightly dark and altogether angsty tale, which is an alternate ending to the final showdown with Deep Blue. Many hints at the beginnings of Quiche/Ichigo. Enjoy!

* * *

Morsel Four:

Apocalypse

* * *

A dull ache stirred her consciousness, and she pushed through layers of sleep to meet it, aroused from a deep forced slumber. Her eyelashes fluttered and she elicited a soft moan as her awareness began to flow back to her. At once a feeling of discomfort settled in, caused by tender new bruises and the stiffness of sore muscles from hours of fighting. Fighting . . .

Momomiya Ichigo's eyes at last flounced open, her mind disoriented from her indefinite period of rest. Her vision was blurry and distorted, and every small movement shot a searing pain throughout her body. She forced herself up on her elbows, fingers grasping handfuls of rubble. Wait . . . rubble?

And then the memories assailed her. Aoyama-kun . . . the transformation into Deep Blue . . . she and the other Mew Mews had followed him into the sky to find the last Mew Aqua. And then . . . Quiche's sacrifice, Aoyama-kun placing her into a bubble for protection, Deep Blue about to destroy Tokyo . . .

She stopped cold as she surveyed her surroundings, eyesight suddenly unhindered. Her mind stumbled over those last words. _No . . . no . . . _

An enormous wave of power, she recollected. Deep Blue's cold laughter . . . and then, nothing. She must've blacked out then. Which meant . . .

She had failed. Her friends, her parents, everyone . . . she had let them down. And worst of all, she would never be able to apologize, because they were gone. Earth was now property of the aliens. And Aoyama-kun . . . Aoyama-kun . . .

Ichigo crumpled; dazed, nauseated. She should have been feeling so many emotions, but instead she was oddly numb. This . . . all of this . . . everything around her . . . it must just be some sort of nightmare, just a fabrication of the imagination. And when she woke up, everything would be fine again . . .

But some corner of her mind knew these were just pale excuses to avoid having to believe the reality of the situation.

She sat there in a stupor a while longer before coming to her senses. There was no value to mourning, she had to get up on her feet and do something. Besides, if Deep Blue really had successfully conquered Tokyo . . . she couldn't waste time loitering around. Slowly, with effort due to her protesting muscles, she stood, banishing from mind the sudden churning grief and self-hate in her mind. She forced anger into her steps to keep her moving, to keep from dwelling on even more depressing thoughts.

She trudged blindly through the wreckage of Deep Blue's wrath, not knowing what she hoped to find. If the Tokyo Continental Renaissance had been fulfilled, what was there to salvage? She noticed then with a twinge of irony that sometime during the duration she'd been unconscious she'd reverted to her human state, and was now attired in a rumpled edition of her school uniform. Former school uniform, she reminded herself. Education would be the least of her worries if she survived all of this. In addition, in her current state. . . she did not think she could summon the energy to transform.

Perfect. She was alone and helpless in the lair of an enemy.

And then, after a few more seconds of careless stumbling, she approached a hunched figure on the floor, lying amidst heaps of crumbled stone, motionless. Ichigo's brown eyes widened in true shock for a moment. Another survivor? It seemed impossible . . . Once again she cursed Aoyama for saving only her, protecting her while the walls of her home crumbled and everyone dear to her faded. She deserved to be wherever they were; she was no better, no more useful than any one of them. It wasn't fair!

She choked down angry tears, instead approaching the figure before her. _Deal with the present, now. All other things can come later. _When she was only about a stride away, she gasped suddenly in horror, dropping to her knees.

_Quiche_. There was another person who gotten hurt because of her. He'd been her foe up until a few hours ago . . . when he defied his entire race and stood against Deep Blue. Stood against him and gave his life. He sacrificed his existence to protect her, because of his love for her . . . She bit her lip, eyes becoming glossy. He didn't deserve to die like he had. She reached out to touch the bare skin of his neck, trying not to let the tears overflow. . .

Maybe it was sentimentality that made her reach out that hand. Maybe it was the lingering hope that his memory could somehow console her . . . whatever the case, when her fingers made contact with Quiche's flesh, she withdrew sharply with shock.

There was a pulse.

It was faint, barely there, but it was a pulse. All of a sudden, things made sense. How could she have been so careless? When Quiche had collapsed in her arms after being defeated by Deep Blue, she'd naturally assumed he had died, but she never did check for his pulse. And then Aoyama had re-emerged. . . She stood, a swell of confidence building. She knew what she must now do. If she was correct in thinking that she was the last of the human race . . . And Quiche had most probably already or would be disowned by his own kind once his betrayal had been discovered. Both of them had had their scruples with each other in the past, but when the fate of the world was at stake, such matters took a backseat. Besides, after what he had done for her, she owed him at least this much.

Without taking a moment to consider her actions or even really realize what she was doing, she summoned all of her power, focusing it and letting it grow and encompass her. Her whole body began to emit a pink aura, steadily growing brighter, and her clothing was discarded, replaced by the familiar cat ears and tail. Ichigo gritted her teeth against the physical strain, a droplet of sweat sliding down her brow. In her current condition, performing magic was dangerous . . . but in the end, she'd die anyway. She had nothing to lose by trying.

Quiche's body had began to levitate towards the hovering Mew Mew, the light surrounding her now almost at a blinding intensity. Just when the black spots began to dance in the corners of her vision, she released all of the energy she had built up into Quiche, hoping against hope that it was enough.

The result was about as effective as electric shock therapy. In an instant the comatose alien shot up, gasping and sputtering. Ichigo, completely drained, fell into a heap beside him, Irimote cat genes fading from dominance and school fuku donned once more. Quiche's hands went instantly to his forehead, searching for the wound Deep Blue had created there. Instead, he found nothing. Incredulously, he examined the rest of his body, discovering all of the nicks and gashes there were gone as well. All that remained to serve his memory of the battle was a faint ache and stiffness in his muscles. And a warmth at his side. . .

He jerked his head around to find Ichigo sprawled out beside him with disbelieving wonder, for some reason wearing her normal school attire. A cold lump of dread formed in the pit of his stomach. "Ichigo?" No response. "ICHIGO!" He seized her roughly by one shoulder and shook, heart pounding. _Please answer me. . ._

"Mmmmph. . .mmmmm. . ." Relief was written heavily in his expression. Good, she was alive. That was the most important thing. With some assistance from whatever strength she had left, Quiche managed to maneuver Ichigo onto her back. Her eyes were squinted closed, expression pensive and pained, and beads of sweat had gathered on her forehead. She had a sense of deja'vu as she once again pushed herself through layers of the unconsciousness that threatened to overcome her weakened body. But when she tried to open her eyes, her world lurched sickeningly, and she was forced to shut them again. It was completely honest to say she was too weak to move.

Quiche seemed to deduce that, if he didn't know all the details. Of course she'd be exhausted after having to fight Deep Blue. However, why he had been healed and why they were surrounded by ruins was a mystery. He had no idea how much time had passed when he was in his coma, but things certainly did not feel right. No one was celebrating. . . He almost laughed. The Quiche of a day ago would never have wished for the Mew Mews' victory, but now . . . well, even though he felt partly responsible for aiding in the revival of Deep Blue, he had decided that Ichigo was his top priority, something he didn't assume he could go back on. He smiled absently at the redhead beside him. He still stood by that decision.

_Ichigo first, facts later_, he resolved, giving his full attention to the obviously physically distressed girl still huddled among the rubble on the floor. He was terribly uninformed about the situation, but if he could bring Ichigo to at least talking capability, he could remedy that situation. He sensed her struggle and exhaustion, and guessed she was suffering some level of paralysis. Sighing, he gathered a little of his power, enough to allow her to have free movement of her body again, and extended it to her.

Ichigo relaxed under the energy Quiche had leant her, its feel warm and mysterious with just a slight edge of menace. The sensation was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. She shuffled into a sitting position, as to not expend her energy, massaging her temples and running a hand through her hair. "Ugh. . ." She opened her eyes and waited for them to adjust, once again familiarizing herself with the world. What was left of it, that is.

"Ichigo. . ." Quiche's feline amber eyes betrayed none of his concern. "What happened?"

"Long story," she replied in a tone that might've been described as sarcastic. Sarcasm? That threw Quiche. It was not in Ichigo's character description to be depressed.

"Did. . ." he began tentatively, ". . . did Deep Blue succeed?" He both dreaded and anticipated the answer.

She turned away from him, expression masked by shadow on her face. "Yes," came the tight response, after some time. Her alien accomplice probed no further, sensing her anguish. He had suspected that ever since he had awakened . . . she had just confirmed his sinking suspicions.

After a while, he tried again. He knew asking a lot of questions was hard on Ichigo, who must've been grieving . . . but he had to get to the bottom of everything. He needed answers, and Ichigo was the only one around to provide him with them. "How did I . . . how am I alive? Why are my scars gone?"

She turned to him again, red tendrils of hair swishing at the motion. Her tension seemed to be gone for the moment, which was an improvement. "I woke up on the floor here, and I was walking around trying to find someone, anyone . . . " She broke off. "I found you lying on the ground, and you had a pulse, so . . . I revived you the best I could with my powers." Her round, expressive eyes became mournful. "Quiche, we might be the last people left."

Quiche was stunned. She'd _revived _him? He felt his heartbeat skip a little. It shouldn't be so surprising, he reminded himself, Ichigo was a very trusting and forgiving person, but . . . it touched him that'd she'd go through such lengths to protect the sake of someone who had been her nemesis just hours ago. It explained why she had been collapsed beside him when he woke up, and yet, he felt a sense of guilt. Perhaps she felt like she owed him, what for he couldn't possibly think of. . . whatever the case, he wasn't complaining. This new feeling of friendliness between the both of them was serving as more than just compensation at the moment.

"The last people left?" Her eyes were still upon him, so he decided he'd have to lay aside his emotions for the time being and concentrate on the situation at hand.

Ichigo nodded. "When . . . Aoyama-kun . . . was taken over by Deep Blue for the last time, he couldn't . . . couldn't fight him off." The remorse in her voice was audible. "Aoyama-kun . . . placed me in a bubble made of his powers to protect me. It wasn't fair. He wanted me to be safe, but . . . I saw Deep Blue regain control of him, and then he began the destruction. And then I must've blacked out, because I don't remember anything else. I woke up here, and I think what happened was pretty obvious." She lowered her eyes, voice choked. "I couldn't save anyone! If only I'd been able to be free, this wouldn't have happened . . ." She sat with her head bent, trembling for a few minutes, trying to contain her lament.

Quiche watched, feeling decidedly helpless but immensely pitiful for his strawberry. He searched for the right thing to say. "It wasn't your fault," the alien said quietly. "Aoyama was the one who placed you in that bubble. There was nothing you could do. He wanted to protect you. Maybe he knew that right then you wouldn't have been strong enough to defeat Deep Blue, but if you survived through the destruction . . . the world might have a chance."

The sniffling redhead turned her gaze to him then, chocolate eyes wide and glistening with tears. Quiche almost melted. "I'd never thought of it that way. . ." A soft sob escaped her lips and she threw herself into her green-haired companion, to his complete stupefaction. She cried openly, without suppression, into his chest, oddly comforted by his presence. Quiche was unsure of what would be proper to do, but he wasn't complaining about the sudden turn of events. After a while, he settled for stroking her hair, which seemed to be appropriate, because she seemed to cry more softly. Things were happing in such a dizzying pace, and in so short a time, that he felt dazed. But, if the future held any more moments like the one in motion, it couldn't be entirely without hope.

Ichigo pulled away suddenly, furiously wiping all signs of her breakdown from her eyes, a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry! I'm probably being such an annoyance to you . . . Your feelings, I didn't even consider them, and . . . Oh! Look, I've even gotten your shirt wet . . . I'm being so careless . . ." She continued to brush away tears with a nervous fervor, refusing to look at Quiche. In her current confused state, her utterances were not unlike those of a certain green-haired girl's they'd both used to know . . .

Quiche's lips weaved themselves into a slightly ironic smile. "After everything that's happened, I believe wet shirts are the least of our problems." Ichigo nodded in relief, glad she hadn't ruined the atmosphere between them, giving a laugh heavily accented by residual tears. Quiche's smile grew as he watched her. Although he didn't say so, he was internally gleeful that she trusted him enough to be so open with him. And that he'd been able to hold her so close . . . However, he didn't think that would be an appropriate comment to make at the moment.

Ichigo's weeping had subsided to just an occasional sniff, and she felt greatly relieved to have released some of her stress and grief. The incident also left her feeling just a little bit hollow and drained, though. She'd only just slept, but in a short amount of time she'd used a lot of magic and was already physically strained. She knew she'd have to rest soon, or risk passing out again. But how safe was it to sleep now? The thought of it made her shiver, it still seemed impossible . . . although she knew fully well it was true.

Quiche was satisfied that he'd been able to console Ichigo, or, more aptly phrased, completely overjoyed. To avoid becoming a grinning idiot in a situation where it might earn him a lump on the head, he abruptly rose up and stretched, hovering leisurely a few feet above Ichigo as it felt natural for him to do. She gazed up at him, not sure of her ability to stand herself, and couldn't help but feel intimidated. The position was all-too familiar, reminiscent of a time when the both of them were not as civil to each other as they were now. And it reminded her of just how powerful Quiche really was . . . She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts. She didn't feel completely comfortable with her green-haired accomplice just yet, and the kindness between them was something that had evolved over the past few hours, but she was confident he would not hurt her.

Just as both were ending their musings with similar feelings of triumph, an echo of voices sounded from the nearby stairs, causing both to freeze.

"You say the body of the traitor lay in this room, Your Majesty?"

"Yes." The voice was cold and dark, causing Ichigo to shiver involuntarily. Her heart was hammering. They'd be found! And her legs still weren't fully functioning . . .

The footsteps grew closer. Ichigo's breath caught in her chest. "Quiche . . ." she whispered, voice tiny and fearful.

There was little time to think. Quiche snapped out of his trance, and, taking one look at Ichigo's condition, scooped her up in her arms before she could protest. Setting his sights on a large chunk of stone that had fallen nearby, he steered both of them toward it, just as the double doors swung open.

Ichigo gasped, forgetting the fact that she was huddled against Quiche's chest. His hair was impossibly ebony, spilling all around him. His face was strikingly beautiful, skin pale . . . but his eyes, they were as cold and emotionless as the depths of the ocean . . .

"Deep Blue-sama . . ." Quiche breathed, both of their eyes wide and mesmerized.

He strode with elegance and fierce purpose, trenchcoat sweeping the ground and giving the impression of gliding. His demeanor remained unchanged, and the only indication of any sort of emotion was found in his eyes, which Ichigo could not bear to look into. Fear consumed her, and also sorrow and anger . . . this entity, he had destroyed her world, corrupted her love, and would not hesitate to do it again. And for this, he frightened her to an extent she'd never experienced, one that made the very blood in her veins run cold, constricted her breath, and made her lightheaded and dazed.

Behind the newly ascended messiah was a following of Quiche's kind, standing stiffly and nervously in attire that Ichigo assumed bore the royal insignia. Members of the alien government? They watched with darting eyes and fidgeting bodies as their leader navigated the wreckage for something he would not likely find, at least not in the state he wanted it to be in. Ichigo and Quiche held their breath.

"Where is he? I know the filthy traitor was murdered here, I have seen his lifeless body, his blood on my hands . . ." Deep Blue's voice was like venom, sharp enough to cut.

"I-I don't know, Your Majesty . . ."

He whirled around, face contorted in a horrible snarl of anger. "The corpse has moved . . . which means it is not yet a corpse . . ."

Ichigo reflexively clutched at Quiche's shirt, who was still holding her. Normally, she would have complained, but any sort of movement now would call attention to their location. In addition, she still couldn't move her legs, and if they needed to move quickly, Quiche was her only ticket out. She hated feeling useless again, but it couldn't be remedied. Deep Blue was looking for a body he would never find . . . a body that, if it was found, was still living and breathing. Either way, he'd know they were still alive, and sooner or later they'd have to make a getaway.

Deep Blue was now very close to their hiding place. Ichigo held her breath again, to avoid making noise, and squeezed her eyes shut. _Quiche . . . what are we going to do? Is it the end for us anyway? _She braced herself, waiting for the heart-lurching moment in which those emotionless, almost arctic eyes would lock with hers, trying without success to calm her nerves. It was astounding to her, on a purely rational level, that she was still struggling to survive in such a hopeless situation, especially when she was so weak that it seemed senseless. But to want to preserve your existence is an inherent part of human nature, and Ichigo was reacting in the only way she knew how.

The footsteps shuffled even closer, and became more cautious. It appeared Deep Blue had sensed something. Ichigo tightened her vice on the fabric of her newfound ally, and also lifeline, if you wanted to go that far. She felt a surge of energy and noticed that a pulsing, yellow-orange light had gathered in Quiche's hand. His every muscle was tense, his jaw clenched and expression hard. He was ready to fight if he had to.

And then, in a swirl of deft movement so sudden and dexterous that you would've missed it by blinking, they were staring into the face of the one terrifying person they'd hoped most to evade. The dimmest flicker of surprise flitted across his face when he discovered Ichigo, but he recovered quickly, and his expression twisted into a one of rage.

"Here lies the traitor! Seize him! Seize him and the girl!" the monarch bellowed, lunging for both of them. Guards immediately began to scramble toward the apex of the action obediently, weapons drawn.

That was all Quiche needed. Not allowing Deep Blue to follow through with his execution attempt, he shot up into the air, simultaneously lobbing the raw energy he'd gathered in his hand earlier. It may not have been more than a diversionary tactic, but they needed as much distance between them and Deep Blue as they could get. Just a glance told him that the royal army would pose no serious threat, so he didn't waste time or energy in combat with them. They'd be lucky if they kept up, anyhow.

"Hold on tight!" he shouted to his red-haired accomplice, and she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly and burrowed her face into his chest, hoping against hope that they'd get out of all of this alive.

And with that, Quiche jetted off through the air as fast as he possibly could, heading straight for the exit and ignoring the orders Deep Blue was spewing in fiery tones behind him. He knew that the messiah himself would be after them soon enough, anyhow, once he became frustrated with the incompetence of the royal army. Once out in the hallway, a gathering of guards began to rise up and block their path, but Quiche shoved past them and sent a few more blasts of energy over his shoulder to keep them busy.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, one that Quiche knew to be the central dome of the royal place. He sped up even more, causing Ichigo to curl even closer to him, but he didn't have time to enjoy the sensation. His mission right now was their safe escape, which was enough to contend with without complicating the situation with his feelings for his partner in so-called crime.

The spacious and circular dome room appeared around them in all its grandiose architecture, but neither were concentrated on such things at the moment. Quiche headed straight up, towards the top of the dome and the view of the overcast skies beyond. Deep Blue and the royal army were probably hot on their heels, if not already one step ahead of them. But thinking like that would do neither of them any good. When he was in range, Quiche aimed an energy blast at glass encasing the dome, creating a satisfying shower. He ducked away from the falling debris and then sailed through the opening he had made. The heat and humidity, even with the impending rain, was instantly shocking.

Quiche dawdled not for a second. They were out of the palace, but they were not out of danger. Any moment now, someone would show up to oppose them. It had been way too easy thus far. And Quiche had a sickening feeling who that person would be. . .

He looked down at Ichigo, still holding onto to him for dear life. Which was interesting, because he'd heard somewhere that cats always managed to land on their feet. . . He shook his head. _Not now_. "Are you alright?"

"I think so!" The wind that was rushing past the both of them was muffling their speech. "Are we safe yet?"

"Not yet." Quiche centered his vision dead ahead, and, as if somehow conjured by his words, a familiar but not at all welcomed figure came into view. Of course.

"Keep close to me," he whispered, and Ichigo couldn't help but feel a shiver of fright, despite the stifling heat. _He's here._

"How unfortunate that we cross paths yet again," the monarch intoned with surreal calm. "I'm afraid that I'm going to have to terminate you once again. You and your friend. . . It will be quite easy this time, now that she has no means of protection." An aura began to throb around the edges of his silhouette, and both Quiche and Ichigo felt its magnitude.

"Yes, how very unfortunate," Quiche growled, already generating energy for a defense. How were they going to get out of this? It was obvious that neither he nor Ichigo were powerful enough to come out of this alive or victorious. Ichigo was his main concern. No offense intended, but at the moment, she was rather useless, not to mention a sitting target. Deep Blue knew this, and he also knew what she meant to him. It would be all too easy for him to take a shot at her while she was incapacitated, and knock out two birds with one stone. While this would fuel his rage, Quiche knew he was no match against Deep Blue alone. That'd already been proven. If only Ichigo could transform. . .!

Our cat-girl had been thinking similar things, but in spite of her terrible fear, she was one step ahead of Quiche. She hadn't completely recovered from her earlier expenditure, but she could feel her strength returning. The only question was if it was returning quickly enough. . . At any rate, it was all she would have to rely on. If she stayed still and relied on Quiche for as long as she could, she would be able to concentrate on reviving her powers. And maybe, just maybe, if he could buy her enough time, she would be able to transform and assist him. Of course, it was asking a lot of him, but at this point, they were out of options. And if it failed. . . Well, it was best not to think about that now. There was nothing to lose.

"Quiche?" she whispered, knowing she would instantly receive his full attention, whether or not it was the best thing at the moment. "Can you do something for me?"

He blinked confusedly. "Sure, anything. . . Although I have to say that now isn't the best time to be asking. . ."

She hurriedly shook her head. "No, no. . . Just give me some time. Don't attack unless you have to, and defend the best you can against anything."

"But. . ."

"I'm sorry I don't have the time to explain, but trust me. . . This'll be better. Just try your best, okay?"

Quiche nodded, suddenly resolute. "As you wish."

Deep Blue smirked at the exchange, the glow emanating from him having grown quite a bit in volume. Its cold intent was almost palpable. "Done strategizing, I hope? Good. You know it's futile, don't you?"

Quiche responded with a smirk of his own. "Why is it that you villain types must be so sure of yourselves?"

The monarch's face remained amused, but his words were deadly serious. "You would not be one to talk, young traitor. Don't forget who you were not so many hours ago. . . And since I don't intend to keep throwing insults back and forth all day. . . Allow me to demonstrate why I have every reason to be sure of myself. HAAAH!"

He arched back, his eyes glowing an eerie aquamarine, and an immense wave of energy was sent crashing toward them. Quiche had to lurch violently aside to miss the brunt of it, and Ichigo tried her best to block the close shave out of her mind and focus on summoning her own magic. _Put your faith in him. He won't allow you to be harmed if he can help it._

"You're lucky that you have such good reflexes. . . But that was just a test. Here's what I'm _really_ capable of. . ." A miasma of raw power started to swirl and grow in Deep Blue's outstretched hands. He devoted all of his attention to feeding its enormity, a fact that Quiche made note of, and then flashed the same disturbing aquamarine gaze at them as he thrust his palms outward and sent the mass arcing their direction.

Quiche immediately shot upward, drawing his weapon and forcing it down on the destructive mass in attempt to slow the momentum of the blow. As he parried, the cloud exploded just as he thought it would on contact, and in a split-second he wrenched he and Ichigo as far away from the resulting shockwave as he could. The _boom _nearly deafened the both of them, as they hadn't been able to get far enough out of range, but they escaped the impact, save for maybe a singed hair or two. But Quiche had the feeling that next time they wouldn't get so lucky. _Think fast! _

Deep Blue was through with talking. His next move was rapidly closing in on them. Quiche only had one trick left up his sleeve, and it was a risky one. There was no time to explain it to Ichigo, but she'd just have to trust him. If he didn't try it it, they were done for anyhow.

He stood right before the enemy, in prime position, hoping to appear as if he had given up. With any luck, Deep Blue would interpret it that way, and let go of the new energy mass he was forming without trying to make it any more formidable.

It worked. With a wicked grin, Deep Blue was arrogant enough to believe his opponent had surrendered, and as a testament to Quiche's observation earlier, he let loose of the attack he had been forming. The second Quiche knew that his action would be irreversible, he took hold of Ichigo's arms and shoved her as far away from him and the point of impact as he could, praying that she'd gained enough power to support herself or that he'd be able to get back to her. He propelled himself in the opposite direction as well, jabbing his weapon forward to absorb the impact. _Please let this work. . . _

The moment Quiche threw her, Ichigo knew that he was unknowingly giving her just the opportunity she needed. It was now or never. Just as the wave of energy roared passed them and before Deep Blue's anger could mount high enough at their deception to decide his next move, she let the words she knew so well flow off of her tongue.

_"Mew Mew Strawberry! METAMORPHOSIS!"_

A warm, pink glow that gave her assurance in spite of the desperate measures she'd been forced to take enveloped her, morphing her into a warrior suited for battle. She felt the tingle of power flowing over her and through her very being, and felt fresh and determined as the light faded and she stepped onto the battlefield not as Ichigo but as _Mew _Ichigo. _It worked. . . And now I'm going to try my very hardest to come out on top. . . _Drifting down to the top of a nearby turret, she assumed a fighter's pose, ready for anything Deep Blue might throw at her. At least, she hoped she was ready. . .

Deep Blue gaped at the unlikely pair disbelievingly, shaking with rage. He had not thought them to be so trusting or so coordinated with each other, from what he had witnessed last night. Apparently, he had misjudged. There was still no doubt in his mind that he could bring them down, but now it would take a bit more precision. The stakes had just gotten higher, the gameplay, more intense. . .

He gave a thin, strained smile. "How admirable. Touching, even. . . Do you think of yourself as some sort of saint, little girl? There's no need to try so hard to save the world anymore. I can guarantee that it won't thank you. And him?" He gestured to Quiche, who was a bit, but not seriously, scuffed up from the earlier blast. "What good did resurrecting him do? Have you forgotten the way he has treated you? Two children does not a savior for the world make. . ."

Quiche understood what Deep Blue was trying to accomplish with all of his taunting, and a grin spread across his lips. Even though he had faced off with Ichigo, he had never really _battled_ with her, and therefore had no idea what he was getting himself into. She may have many faults, but she never questioned her sense of what she knew was right. And she never, ever gave up.

Although Ichigo would've loved to refute Deep Blue's words, she got the feeling that he was a person who'd rather blast you out of the sky than sit around debating. Besides, she and Quiche still didn't quite pack enough of a punch to put him down for the count, and then there was the entire royal court to deal with even then. . . Their only hope was to wound him just enough to give them time for a clean getaway and time to recuperate. And so, even though it was an entirely unfair and unoble thing to do, that's why Ichigo made the move she did next.

_"Strawberry Bell Bell!"_ The monarch's eyes widened for yet another round of shocking developments as he realized what he was about to do. The look deepened to horror when he also realized there was no way to stop her.

Quiche, too, was a bit stunned. Not that he was against the idea, but this was Ichigo they were discussing. As the saying went, desperate times called for desperate measures. Just in case, Quiche readied a counterattack. He was just as eager to make a retreat as she was.

As soon as she was grasping her weapon in her hands, Ichigo did not hesitate to use it. Stretching both arms as far as they could go, she aimed. . . and fired.

_"Ribbon. . . Strawberry Check!" _

It was a direct hit. In a swirling fury of multi-colored bubbles, Deep Blue met his doom. For the moment, at least. As soon as Ichigo heard his anguished roar of pain and defeat, Quiche had read her thoughts exactly and was already sweeping her off of her feet and hightailing it into the hills.

Suffice to say, neither of them waited around to hear Deep Blue's revenge-driven vows.

* * *

"Where are we going!" The demand belonged to Ichigo, who had been breathlessly trying to keep up with Quiche's breakneck pace. The scene was now of lush and verdant foliage, and the overcast skies of earlier had gotten even darker and decided to send down some rain. Since she had remained in her Mew form even after their getaway, just in case anyone tried to pursue them or they got into trouble along the way, the weather was especially unpleasant. Not only did cats despise water, but it was becoming a bit difficult to run when her skirt was sodden. _Quiche would gladly carry you_, her subconscious volunteered. But after all the time she'd spent in his arms, _necessary_ time, she reminded the voice in her head, she was glad to be back on her own two feet again, for a change. She'd stick it out."Where are we going!" The demand belonged to Ichigo, who had been breathlessly trying to keep up with Quiche's breakneck pace. The scene was now of lush and verdant foliage, and the overcast skies of earlier had gotten even darker and decided to send down some rain. Since she had remained in her Mew form even after their getaway, just in case anyone tried to pursue them or they got into trouble along the way, the weather was especially unpleasant. Not only did cats despise water, but it was becoming a bit difficult to run when her skirt was sodden. , her subconscious volunteered. But after all the time she'd spent in his arms, time, she reminded the voice in her head, she was glad to be back on her own two feet again, for a change. She'd stick it out. 

"To my ship! I've had it hidden here for a long time, just waiting for a situation like this to come up!" He had to shout over the hiss of the rain.

"What! You can pilot your own ship?"

Quiche threw a teasing glance back at her. "You didn't think I floated across the galaxy to your planet, did you?"

"Ha ha, very funny!" Undeterred by circumstance, they were both beginning to act like their old selves.

Not more than a few seconds later, Quiche let out a whoop. "We're here!"

Ichigo stopped and stooped over, catching her breath. She watched with some amusement as the green-haired alien excitedly ran over to a towering growth of exotic-looking weeds, scaling the side of the concealed spaceship and flipping open the top hatch.

"C'mon!" He motioned eagerly for her to follow.

Slightly more reluctantly, Ichigo strode over to the mass of weeds and felt her way through them to the hidden spacecraft, climbing carefully and with some hesitance. When she neared the top, Quiche extended a hand to her that she took only too gratefully. Once she was lifted to the top, she began her descent into the hatch, Quiche right behind her (or more correctly, _above_ her), shutting its door on his way in.

Once Ichigo had reached the bottom, she chanced a look around the place. It was a smaller spacecraft (not that Ichigo had seen a _larger_ one), but it looked clean and well-maintained. _Spaceships must be the same to boys on Quiche's planet as they are to cars on ours_, she mused. Surely enough, a certain gleam overtook the alien's eyes when the rested on the control panel.

"So, what do you think?"

"Does it matter? We're stuck here for a while, whether I like it or not. . . But since you asked, I guess it doesn't seem so bad. As long as you don't start going on about horsepower or something." The redhead took a much-deserved seat in a nearby chair, sighing and running her fingers through her damp and stringy locks.

"Horsepower? What's that?" Quiche blinked, his face blank.

_Oh, that's right. . . _"Um, nevermind."

Now that there was no urgent fleeing of royal palaces or fate-determining battles to distract their minds from the truth, the gravity of their situation had begun to sink in. Even though he was overjoyed to have her there, Quiche got the feeling that Ichigo seemed out of place in this tiny ship. Funny, it really hadn't seemed so small a moment ago. . . He knew that a horrible twist of fate was the only reason why she was here, and that if the rest of the world hadn't been destroyed, Ichigo would never be paying him this kind of attention. It was awful that he was happy about a situation that had only come about with the death of an entire planet. planet. He searched her expression, trying to see if the sorrow and loss and regret had seeped back into it, and felt a pang in his own heart. He hated to see her like this! But what he hated worse was that he had no power within him to give her the comforting she needed. 

Even now, though he knew she would at least put up an act of cheer and acceptance, she stood out among the space-age fixtures of the cabin they occupied. The very bulk of the ship seemed as if it would weigh down on her delicate frame, and the rude steel that composed it was somehow injuring to her beauty. She was a flower in the midst of a barren steppe, condemned to an unsuiting life of harsh winters that would eventually wilt and tatter her spirit. It was just the two of them, now. If he so desired, he could seduce her right now, and she could do nothing to stop him. But somehow, that idea had lost its appeal. . . For reasons he himself did not understand, all he was interested was in humoring _her _needs and making _her _happy. It was really quite ironic that he should have the perfect opportunity to fulfill all of his fantasies and then pass it by. Nevertheless, this felt right. . .

Having Ichigo around could be potentially damaging to his ego. And it seemed they were going to be stuck that way, for a while, at least. He just hoped she wouldn't bring up those things he'd said while he thought he was dying. Burning stars, women drove you to do some crazy things. . .

Far too much time had passed since either of them had spoken. Attempting to break the uncomfortable silence, Quiche cleared his throat and made what was supposed to be a neutral announcement. "We can't stay here. In a few hours, the whole city with be crawling with guards. We're well-hidden for now, but I think it'd be best to leave as soon as possible. I don't want to risk it."

Ichigo seemed to snap out of her trance, centering her big doe eyes on him. "Does that mean. . ."

Quiche nodded grimly. "We'll be headed for Earth, yes. I'm sorry. . ." He grew a little nervous as Ichigo ducked her head. Dealing with the emotionally distraught wasn't his forte. "It's the only place we have left to go. And anyway, we have to see if there's anything we can do. If there are any other. . . survivors." He kept his eyes locked on Ichigo's slumped form, his unrest increasing.

Thankfully, when she did emerge again, her eyes were free of any tears. "Alright," she agreed softly.

Quiche gave a mental sigh of relief. "Er. . . good, then. I'll be starting the engine for take-off. You can sit in the co-pilot's chair, if you want-" he tried not to let the hope be overly evident in his voice "-or you can retire to your quarters."

There was something almost pathetically endearing about the way Quiche had tried to hide the pleading in his voice. In spite of all, Ichigo smiled. "I think I'll sit in the co-pilot's seat," she told him. "I've never been in space before."

Quiche's face lit up, but then he realized what he was doing and tried to smother his joy. But the damage was already done. "Er, well then, just come up when you're ready. . . I'll, ah, be preparing things. . ."

As soon as he disappeared behind the control terminal, Ichigo stifled a giggle. She didn't know what it was, but there was an almost puppy-like quality that he had that somehow took her mind off things.

In a puzzlingly good mood, she pushed back her chair and followed him to the cockpit.

* * *

"I thought you said you knew how to fly this thing!" Ichigo shrieked, clutching the handle overhead for dear life as she was once again jerked out of her seat. They'd been in space for only a couple of hours, but that was more than enough time for Ichigo to discover that Quiche's piloting skills were more rusty than he would like to admit.

"I do!" Quiche protested, frantically shoving down a multitude of flashing levers and buttons with his free hands. It was usually Pie's job to handle the ship, not his. "She's just not handling very well!"

The spacecraft made another vile lurch, causing Ichigo to knock her head on the ceiling and lunge forward. "That was an asteroid! What are you doing!"

"Trying"-jerk-"to"-slam-"fly"-wrench-"this"-twist-"ship!" Another asteroid careened into view, and Quiche made a rough turn to avoid it.

"Don't you have some kind of directional computer! Or _seatbelts_!" This time, Ichigo held firm her grip on the overhead handle, not even bothering to reseat herself. At this rate, they'd be rattled to pieces before they even entered Earth's atmosphere!

"Well, _you_ try maintaining a spaceship on my salary! It's not like we had time to do a systems check! Pick one, death by evil alien king or death by asteroid belt!"

Just seconds later, his comment almost came true. A particularly large specimen zoomed into view, hurling towards them at a sickening pace. Ichigo's eyes dilated and she emitted a frightened scream. Frantically, Quiche tried to swerve away, but the control stick seemed to be stuck. _Great, me and my big mouth. _In a last ditch effort, he tried to pull the stick loose, and in the final moment, it un-jammed. . . Causing them to roll and tumble wildly as the huge space rock knocked against the side of the ship.

In the ensuing chaos that reigned as all manners of loose objects clanged around, Quiche felt something warm, soft, and decidedly female crash into him and latch hold. The lights flickered and the entire vessel groaned. Instead of focusing on the crisis at hand, Quiche was trying hard to ignore the scent of Ichigo's hair and the warmth of her body and especially the rapid fluttering of her heartbeat.

A few minutes passed, and then the ship was sailing smoothly, everything stabilized. Ichigo froze and flushed a deep red as she noticed the death grip she had on her green-haired comrade. But before she jerked away, she was shocked to notice that his head was politely turned away, head ducked. And was that a blush she saw? _Surely not. . . _

She stood there awkwardly for a couple of heartbeats, unsure of what to say or do next, before Quiche intervened with a polite cough. "Er, Ichigo?"

"What?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she heard the snap in her tone and cringed.

"Your, ah, skirt has risen up, I believe." His head was still turned to the side, and his voice didn't seem to carry any lecherous intent.

Ichigo looked down and saw, with horror, that Quiche spoke the truth. Her cheeks burning even more fiercely, she tugged the fabric down, hard. "Ah. . . th-thank you," she said, unsure of what else she could say to make the situation less embarrassing. He had seen her panties! But at least he had the decency to look away and tell her. . . Wait, had she just used the words "decency" and "Quiche" in the same sentence?

There was another long pause. Before the silence could stretch too far, Ichigo took her seat again, her face still tinged pink. She preoccupied her sights with the stars all around them.

"It looks like we've cleared the asteroid belt," Quiche announced, trying to save the atmosphere (and trying not to think of Ichigo's adorable strawberry-print panties). "Since we're back on course, I'm going to make the jump to lightspeed. It might be a little bit of a jolt at first, but you'll get used to it."

Ichigo nodded, her eyes still lost in the star-dotted tapestry of space. Were one of those distant lights her sun? Her heart sank at her next thought. _Was there even anything left for it to warm?_ She clenched the bunches of her skirt in her hands, trying not to give into the despair that had become all too familiar in the past few hours. _Be strong, Ichigo. They need you to have courage!_

A red glow surged up the length of a particularly large lever, its beeping growing more shrill and insistent, catching Ichigo's attention. As soon as the whole lever shined red and the beeping reached its epithet, Quiche slammed it down, and they jolted into hyperspace. The initial force pinned Ichigo to her seat, and the black vastness outside became a blur of lights. It reminded her of a carnival ride, almost. Except the purpose of this adventure was far more grave.

_Hang on,_ she pleaded silently. _We're almost there._

_

* * *

_

It was there before them. A round globe of swirling blues, greens, and whites. . . The scene was breathtaking from Ichigo's viewpoint. "Home", she whispered, swallowing a lump in her throat. It still looked beautiful from the outside, at least.

"Approaching Earth's atmosphere shortly," and automated voice chimed. "Please engage deflector shields and prepare engines for entry."

Quiche fiddled with some buttons and switches and the spacecraft became encased in a semi-transparent force field of sorts, its surface rippling with energy. Ichigo blinked, studying it. She had done similar things with her powers, and wondered what technology the ship relied on to duplicate the effect. Her knowledge on technological matters was very little, though, just enough to operate any everyday electronic device.

But perhaps it would be in her best interest to learn, since this would be the only piece of technology she would be using for a long while.

Quiche spoke, bringing her back to the present and away from her own disturbing thoughts. Which was probably a good thing, because she would have new ones aplenty once they landed. "The ride through the atmosphere's going to be rough, and probably hot, even with the anti-friction and cooling systems. So hang onto something." His manner was unusually somber and subdued. They hadn't said much after the incident with the asteroid belt, and along with the silence had stretched a certain pensiveness, a deep chasm in the conversation made of things unsaid and better left unspoken.

Ichigo just nodded and reached up to grasp the security handle overhead once more. She trusted him.

"Beginning descent into Earth's atmosphere. 10, 9, 8. . ."

Ichigo held her breath as the computerized voice counted down, hoping that whatever she found down there was nowhere near as bad as she saw it in her imagination. And, more imminently, that they landed safely.

". . .3, 2, 1."

Quiche throttled another glowing lever, and downward they shot, the hull a molten orange point plummeting into the oblivion so quickly and so forcefully Ichigo had to squeeze her eyes shut against the brilliance and the heat.

Her heart hammered. But whether it was in hope or fear, she could not be sure.

* * *

From the moment they entered the stratosphere, Ichigo knew all of her fears were confirmed. Where there should've been a glittering skyline, a patchwork of skyscrapers, there was nothing. .

They floated down with a disturbing ease, but Ichigo was already shaking at the view before her. Her dread, which had before swirled within her like mist, comprised of fear and worst-case-scenario imaginings, now solidified, settled in her stomach like a hard, cold lump. Tears that should've welled up refused to spill over, and she felt hollow all of a sudden. _Is this what it feels like to become numb?_

A gentle, graceful thud and the spacecraft had landed. Ichigo's eyes remained riveted to the horrendous scene that had unfolded before them, as if locked in place. She'd expected this, braced herself against it, and yet it still left her reeling.

Beside her, Quiche gave her a soft tap on the shoulder. Ichigo turned and blinked, her eyes large and empty, like the eyes of one haunted.

"I've lowered the loading ramp," he whispered. He looked concerned, and he seemed to struggle against consoling her, as he didn't really know if there was anything he could do to assist, or if should would be insulted by his attempt. After all, this was partly his fault, much as he hated it. He had supported, aided, and carried out the Tokyo Continental Renaissance from start to finish. A change of heart at the last moment didn't absolve him of his wrongdoing. He'd helped destroy a planet, _Ichigo's _planet. There was nothing he could do to take it back. And to be honest, he was thoroughly shaken that Ichigo had seemed to completely forgive him. He didn't deserve her forgiveness. He was thankful for it, tried desperately to preserve the fragile bonds that held it intact, but he didn't deserve it. And since they were stuck with each other anyway, it made things easier. But the easy way out was not always the best one, or the right one.

Ichigo gave him a blank look that tore him apart, as if she was unaware he had spoken. Then she snapped out of the trance, giving a mechanical nod. Though it took all of his willpower to do so, Quiche led her to and down the ramp silently, suppressing the many things he wanted to say.

As soon as their feet touched the ground, if it could even be called ground any longer, disbelief and horror dawned anew.

It was more destruction than even an atomic bomb could ever hope to cause. It literally looked as if a giant fist had plunged from the heavens and impaled all that was once Tokyo, grinding the massive city to its foundation and reducing it to rubble. _Wasteland. _That was what Tokyo had become.

Mangled steel, crumbled concrete, blasted pavement, twisted hunks of metal that might've once been automobiles. All of this, piled in heap after heap as far as the eye could see, reaching toward the sky. There were no signs of life anywhere, just a rough breeze, which served only to make the place seem more lonely, more desolate, more forsaken. Seawater rushed and lapped over the gigantic scrapyard, flowing through the craggy and damaged surface along the shore. The impact must've depressed the whole landmass, Quiche realized. They were below sea level now. And speaking of the sea. . . A blow powerful enough to decimate an entire metropolis would probably trigger a seismic reaction, pummeling the coasts of other continents with mega-tsunamis. Deep Blue had certainly done his homework.

And then, abruptly, he wondered why the whole city wasn't crawling with media, those camera-toting, microphone-shoving, business-poking annoyances that Earth seemed to breed like rabbits. Surely with a planet this large and advanced, _someone _would've noticed the disappearance of a world empire. . . And that's when he felt it. An energy field of some sort, spanning the entire circumference of the city. The waves that it generated were intense, meant to ward off anything from the outside. It seemed Deep Blue intended to keep his prize well-preserved. But then. . . how had they been able to penetrate it?

"He knows we're here," Quiche spoke aloud, and the prospect was nauseating. He had manipulated the force field to allow them in, and now, essentially, they were trapped. Trapped in a godforsaken city with no provisions and little hope. It was a marvelous scheme. Why, as they spoke, a fleet of royal star cruisers were probably on their way, ready to make mincemeat out of the both of them. Their best bet was to find somewhere to hide, to maintain some element of surprise and conceal their exact location for as long as they could, if only to buy time.

He looked to Ichigo, ready to divulge his plan. She was taking this hard, unsurprisingly. He didn't want to seem callous, but for the sake of their lives, they'd have to keep moving. But before he could get a word out, Ichigo beat him to it.

"I used to walk along this street on my way to school," she stated, her manner still disconcertingly calm. "Miwa, Moe, and I, in our school uniforms, every day after school, we walked this block. It was the most crowded of all the streets, but the three of us always loved it the most of all. So many exciting people, on their way to work, or to school like us, or to who knows where. . ." She smiled ruefully. "And now, it's empty. There's nothing left of it. No one will ever walk down it again."

"Don't say that!" Quiche reprimanded reflexively. "We haven't lost yet. There's still some hope for us." But it sounded flat and false, even to his ears. She was right. Without a miracle, Ichigo's words would most likely come true.

Her eyes filled with pity, but the cause of it was undeterminable. Herself? The Earth? _Him_? Wordlessly, she walked over to a nearby mound of wreckage, fingering the crumpled remains of what had probably once been a very grand building. "So much effort to build, and so little effort to destroy. . . It's so unfair." She sifted the chunks of concrete in her hands, feeling a certain sympathy for them, even if they were only inanimate objects. They, too, would never get put back together, never get to stand again.

Quiche couldn't take it any longer. Something about Ichigo carressing a mound of splintered concrete tore at his heartstrings. If he didn't say it now, his guilt would strangle him. "Ichigo. . . I. . . I'm sorry." He hung his head, his expression resigned. "I helped create this. I should be here among all of this rubble. We were comissioned to do this by our king, Pie, Tart, and I. Times were very hard, and our people were anxious for a better life, a savior to guide them. We were, too. We didn't think about doing the right thing; all we cared about was getting back what we thought was rightfully ours. But. . . if we'd stopped and thought about it, we'd have seen that revenge wasn't the way to go about it. You showed me that, and it took a long time for me to really listen. Too much time. I wanted you to love me like I loved you, but another thing I didn't realize was that I couldn't force affection. If I'd really cared, I'd have let you go. I'd have stopped everything before it was too late."

He looked up at her, regret etched in his every feature. "I'm so sorry, Ichigo. It shouldn't have happened this way."

Ichigo was taken aback by such a heartfelt confession. All of what Quiche had told her was true, but. . . He couldn't be held accountable for his past actions. At least he'd seen the error of his ways in the end. It was better than not at all. He had been willing to fight against his own evildoings, at least _tried _to thwart them. Besides, his whole upbringing, his whole planet, had told him he was doing the right thing. . . She felt a wave of compassion. It seemed they both felt responsible, in one way or another.

She walked back over, stopped before him, and took both of his hands. He looked at her in awe, hardly believing her actions. She smiled firmly but reassuringly. "Quiche, it's neither of our faults. You convinced me, and now I'll convince you. You did some terrible things, but. . . I know you regret them. And more than regret them, you'd do anything to take them back! It doesn't matter now. What matters is that we're both here, and now we're both trying to undo everything." She looked him straight in the eyes. "Quiche, I forgive you."

The alien's eyes seemed to glisten just a bit more than usual, for a moment, and then he smiled in return. "Okay."

* * *

A broken city was a terrible thing, but as both Quiche and Ichigo were beginning to discover, it offered some terrific hiding places. Of course, hiding would really be no use in the long run, especially if Deep Blue could sense their presence like Quiche feared he could, but there was nothing to lose by trying.

Ichigo had done her best to hold her head up and keep her composure while they had navigated the ruined streets. The interesting thing was that they'd found no bodies, no remains. They seemed to have vaporized completely. But everything was so familiar, and after she had lived her whole life there, there was almost nothing that didn't have some kind of memory tied to it. Thoughts of her friends and family and _everyone_ hurt the worst, though. Tokyo had been so crowded and full of life. To see it reduced to its current state was painful. Several times tears had threatened her, but she'd pushed them away. They didn't have time to grieve.

But now, in the basement of a building in the business district, Ichigo wasn't sure she could ward off her grief. Sure, she'd given an encouraging speech, picked through rubble, and searched for provisions, all with dry eyes, but this had been accumulating since the moment she'd arrived. The circumstances had just forced her to push it back.

She fingered a ceramic jar on a desk, examining it. The eerie thing about this particular building was how undamaged, how well-preserved it was. The jar was in the shape of a cat, with two glass eyes and ears and a tail. There person who had sat there every day had probably put it there to add a homey touch. Maybe she'd enjoyed ceramics, and had made it herself. Maybe she had cats at home. Or maybe her daughter had given it to her for a gift. . .

The burden then became too much. The jar fell from Ichigo's fingers, shattering, and Quiche turned at the disturbance. Ichigo could feel the tears welling up, weak and incriminating. She was angry with herself for being powerless to stop their descent down her cheeks, and at the same time relieved to be able to properly vent all of the pain and suffering she had kept bottled inside. As her entire lifestyle and then her entire city had before her, Ichigo crumbled, and there was no more dignity in her fall than there had been in the previous disasters.

"I can't do this!" she sobbed, hands obstructing a face ruined by lament. "I . . . I'm not enough. Not enough for this world! I. . . can't save it. . . Look at me! I'm so exhausted from running that I can barely stand. I haven't even had a bath or a decent meal for so long. . ." Ichigo straightened, removing her hands from her face and regarding Quiche directly, her brown eyes intensified by her tears and passionate deliverance, strangely vivid and captivating.

"Do I look like the savior of an entire planet? Do I? Why me? Why not someone stronger, someone older, someone who would have stood half a chance. . . It doesn't make any sense. . ." She dissolved back into weeping then, tilting her face downward so that her hair concealed her face. Her shoulders trembled viciously.

Quiche was torn. Ichigo's torment stirred him somewhere deep in his heart, and he ached to watch her like she was. All the same, he wasn't certain if any consolation would be the right sort. He couldn't lie to her and say that everything would be all right; that was cliche and both of them knew the opposite was far more likely. He understood the source of her pain, knew what it was like to have a burden forced upon oneself far bigger than your capacity to carry. And this was what gave him the compulsion to comfort her in some way, this time, to stop or at least temporarily ease whatever pain had made his strawberry into something that was not herself. He didn't know how she would react, but the desperation of the situation and his own inner conviction gave him the courage to reach out to her.

A hand lifted her chin, and Ichigo choked on a sob in shock as Quiche brushed her bangs out of her eyes. His face was commandingly serious as he smoothed away her tears, his fingers finally coming to rest grasping her chin. She gazed at him, still slightly dazed by the gesture, and her heartache still lurking just behind the surface was currently overwhelmed by a soft wonder.

"You said yourself that we were not to blame," Quiche intoned carefully, still watching Ichigo's every move to see if he was doing the right thing. Her rapt, almost spellbound attention gave him momentum, confidence. "So why are you blaming yourself now?"

She closed her eyes, and a single tear trickled down. "I know I'm not to blame. It's easy to say it, but. . . I'm not blaming myself. I just. . . everything. . . I don't know. . . I don't want to die!"

Quiche understood her distress. It was nothing that could be remedied in words. No advice could be given to heal the wounds of loss, and no words of confidence could hide the fact that the odds were against them. There was only one thing Quiche could offer, and he wasn't sure if it would be comforting in the least.

"I'll protect you," he whispered, erasing the last tear from her face. "I won't let you die if I can help it."

Something in his words made Ichigo's heart swell unbearably, something familiar that she had needed to hear all along but had been unable to. Impulsively, she leaned forward and pressed her lips into his.

Ichigo had shocked him many times that day, but this was the biggest shock of all. He couldn't tell if she just wanted the sensation of intimate contact to banish her worries, or if she was really kissing _him_. But he didn't care who she thought of him as in that moment. Whoever she needed him to be to overcome her struggle, that was his identity. He kissed back, relishing the contact. Although he had locked lips with Ichigo before, that was a kiss stolen. This was a kiss _given_. It felt different. It felt wonderful.

Just as soon as it had began, the kiss was over, and although it had been quite brief in the way of snogs, it had felt like an eternity. Ichigo came to her senses and realized what she had just done, _really_ realized it, and her face exploded into a violent flush, looking down. This was pathetic! First she was crying her eyes out, and then she kissed Quiche without warrning. . . What must he think of her? Especially under the circumstances, and with the past she had of trying to convince him that she didn't want such advances from him. . . Now _she _was the one making the advances.

A suffocating silence dawned. Quiche tried to interpret Ichigo's blush, her sudden shyness, her refusal to look at him. He knew what he hoped they meant, but that chance seemed remote. Then, he remembered the last words he had said. . .

"Was I Aoyama?" he asked, trying not to sound bitter and failing.

Ichigo's looked up, her expression startled. "No, I think. . . I think you were you." She said the words slowly, incredulous that they were coming out of her mouth.

Quiche's expression lifted to disbelief, hope not quite concealed in his eyes. "You mean that?" His voice was soft.

And then everything made sense. She nodded and wrapped him in a bone-crushing embrace before he could say another word, not wanting to think about how insane and selfish this all was and just wanting his nimble fingers in her hair and his comforting presence all around her.

As the rain (when had that started falling?) beat down on them through the damaged building, Ichigo felt a lightness she hadn't in a long while. There was still so much that she didn't understand, so many things left to face and repair that she wasn't sure she could handle, but at least she knew she had someone else there to stand beside her.

And neither of them heard it when the thunder began to roll in.

* * *

There's more being said than what appears in that last line, as always with me. Kisses are what blur the line between friendship and love, so that's why they've been prominent in the key points of each of these stories.

So, has everyone liked my fan fiction? I really hope so. Okay, so maybe the premise was a little far-fetched, but altogether logical if you really consider things. Have you noticed in fiction that whenever people collapse everyone always jumps to conclusions and starts screaming "Don't die!"? They never act rationally and check for a pulse, and people don't die so suddenly if you think about it realistically. And surprisingly, a lot of Quiche/Ichigo fan fiction has been popping up around here. Personally, even though I'm a die-hard canon couplist, I really like them together. It's tragic and angsty enough to appeal to me. So this scenario would make a relationship between them more believable and canon, if that's not contradictive. And about the space-y bits. . . All the techno-talk and such was drawn from what I know of space travel (most of it's from Star Wars novels and fan fic!), and my somewhat logic-inept brain. So if you want to point out a misnomer, go ahead. I'll be the first to admit that I have no idea about the real workings of spaceship, aside from the basics.

Also, a note on my spelling of Quiche. Most people here refer to him as Kish, due to either Tokyopop's translations or phonetic spelling. Quiche, pronounced Keesh, is a baked dessert similar to a tart, which fits with the tune of the other aliens' names, so that's why I use it. It's like spelling Lettuce as Retasu. Retasu is just a more phonetic spelling, since Japanese have difficulty pronouncing the letter L or saying words that end in consonants. Everyone got it?

And so we reach the epilogue of this anthology. It was a fun ride! And because I got so many great reviews, there will be another short story coming up soon ("soon" being in a few months, knowing me), as a kind of "bonus dessert". The plot bunnies really won't leave me be. Anyhow, this story will be set in the not-so-distant future, and will be my take on the lives of the Mew Mews as they grow up and settle down. And who knows? If it really inspires me, there might be another anthology coming soon. . .

Don't keep your fingers crossed, though!

Love always,

CS-chan

(P.S.: If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading my monstrously long author's notes, as well! I'd like to think I'm rambling for a good cause.)


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